


Hell Fire and Holy Water

by TawnyOwl95



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A little bit The Magpie Lord by KJ Charles, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Bentley the devil horse, Bicker Flirting, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, Hints of The Woman in Black, Internalized Homophobia, It's all about the blood, M/M, Mutual Pining, Occult Shenanigans, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possibly an Aziraphale origin story, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, You wait a whole fic for an Aziraphale and then three come along at once, bone and birdspit, eventual metaphysical smut!, gothic themes, just don't call him that tohis face, references to a past abusive relationship, reverend!Aziraphale, two damaged boys want someone to love, victorian sartorial crowley, wizard!crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: The Reverend Eastgate is being haunted and the ghost seems to have a personal interest in his failures as a vicar, family member and human being. Eastgate doesn't know how long he can resist it’s attacks.The mysteries Mr Eden works for the Authority, a magical organisation that Eastgate has always been warned to avoid.Although as the haunting progresses it becomes clear that there is more terrosing the parish of St Beryl's-At-The-End-Of-The-World than Eastgate's ghost. The two men will have to work together if they both want to survive it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 195
Kudos: 117
Collections: GO-Events Good Omens Mystery AU Event Works





	1. CHAPTER I

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for the GO Events server Mystery AU Event. Thank you to Amanda and Darcy for running and organising it!
> 
> CW: Starting off with a suicide attempt at the start of this chapter
> 
> This is nominally a Victorian ghost story, but I admit I am going to take the aesthetic over historical accuracy for the purposes of this fic. 
> 
> There will also be at least one occasion where I slip up and call Eden Crowley before the end. If you spot it consider this blanket permission to laugh at me in the comments. 
> 
> [NaroMoreau!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau) Thank you for betaing and supporting.

The water was icy and dark, but so smooth it looked like sea glass. Still, the soft breeze caught in the reeds with an insidious whisper of  _ your fault, your fault.  _

It was taken up by the crows nesting in the church tower. The pulse of the waxing moon and the heavy hush of the cloud tendrils scudding across it. 

_ Your fault, your fault. You should have been better. You should have been braver. You should have been  _ **_more._ **

The ground sank and shifted under Ezra's feet. He idly wondered how far he could walk out into the water before the marshy ground dropped away and he was submerged completely. 

It'd be nice to let the coolness of it fill his mouth, let the care of his failings float away in insubstantial ripples. 

_ I should have been more.  _

He looked back at the blurred figure on the island. Pearlescent against the navy sky, the church of St. Beryl's-At-The-End-Of-The-World, looming out of the landscape behind it. 

**Yes** it said, resigned, but firm and the indistinct edges of it trembled.  **You should have** . The tired voice managed to cross the distance between them. Probably carried on disappointment. 

Best get on with it then. Not a sin, surely, if Ezra was doing it to save others from his future failings. Not a sin, a sacrifice. 

Ezra would trust that God would see the distinction. He didn't even bother to inhale. He bent his legs sinking straight under the cold water and into oblivion. 

He woke up screaming. A weight pressed down on his chest. His feet were tangled up in something unyielding. Ezra  _ could _ breathe though. Big gasping lungfulls of air. As they calmed him, Ezra became aware of the washed out autumn sun across his face and the familiar scents and sounds of his bedroom. 

The only oddity was the man half lying across his chest, forcing Ezra's wrists back into the pillow with a punishing grip. He smelt oddly of wood smoke and his eyes were narrowed and golden, the pupils split like a snake's. 

"You done, reverend?" The man asked. 

"That depends." Ezra gasped. "Are you the demon sent to drag me down to Hell?” At this stage, Ezra wouldn’t be surprised if he were. This was, after all, not the oddest thing that had happened to him recently. The fear pulsing in Ezra’s blood was hot and sharp, but familiar by now. Ezra found he much preferred it to the cool, glassy nothing he was also growing worryingly accustomed to. He shuddered, the fingerprints of the grasping ice of the water still very much on his skin.

"Me a demon?" The man’s dark red eyebrows lifted. "Maybe." 

"I didn't think you'd be so well dressed." And now that Ezra was no longer startled by the man’s presence, or his eyes, or the fact that he was in Ezra’s bedroom at all, he could see the man was very well dressed. All in black, all as finely made as he could no doubt afford. Ezra’s nose was, after all, quite close to his collar points. 

The man's mouth twisted as he tried to hold back a laugh. He released Ezra's wrists and slithered back off the bed and on to one of the dining room chairs that had been placed by the door. 

Ezra got cautiously into a sitting position, taking inventory of how much he was wearing (his nightshirt only) and trying not to overly worry about who was responsible for getting him into that state.

The last Ezra remembered was the saltmarsh water closing over his head, the flicker of moonlight on the surface above him. His lungs had begun to burn almost immediately, his body begging him for air. As soon as Ezra tried to stand again there was pressure on his shoulders, holding him down. 

Did poor, deceased Eric really hate him so much that he'd rejected eternal rest to get revenge?

Panic clawed its way into Ezra's heart, then his brain. He fisted the bed sheets. 

"You remember what happened?" The man asked, kindly enough. 

Ezra took a deep breath. He was at home. It was daylight. He was safe, for now. Presumably. "I don't think I'm obliged to tell you anything until  _ you  _ tell  _ me  _ who you are and why you are in my bedroom."

The man smiled his infuriating smile. Made more infuriating still because of how handsome it was. He leant forward in the chair, holding out a long, equally handsome hand. 

"Call me Eden."

"Is that your name?" Ezra sniffed, giving the pretense exactly as much weight as he thought it deserved, which really was none at all.

That smile again. "No."

"Ezra Eastgate." It wasn't entirely Ezra’s name either, which made him feel better about being so obviously lied to. 

_ He was petty, small minded.  _ No. Not now. Now he was safe. 

Ezra accepted Eden's hand which was dry and warm. Beautifully long fingers, but the man took abominable care of his nails. He was a biter, obviously.

These little details gave Ezra the strength to ground himself in the world outside his head. 

"Oh, I know who you are." Eden smiled, and still held Ezra's hand while his gaze flicked over Ezra’s face, his shoulders and the top of his head, as though searching for something. 

Ezra gazed back, attention lingering on the man’s long neck, the curl of his mobile lips. Striking eyes. Not unpleasant. The pupils were blown wide and looked almost vulnerable, quite hypnotic. They were looking right back at him. The room grew uncomfortably hot. The bedroom door opened. Ezra snatched his hand away, nearly crawling up the bed’s headboard in an effort to escape. 

Eden hooked a pair of dark spectacles from the bedside table and quickly slid them back on his face. 

Mrs Potts entered the room as calmly as a pleasure boat on a still sea. She held a tea try out defensively. "Excuse me, Mr. Eden, I waited as long as I could, but I will not take responsibility for the consequences if Mr. Eastgate is kept from his vitals. He boxed for Oxford, you know?" 

Without further ado she nudged Eden out of the way with her hip and placed the tray over Ezra's knees. 

"You were at school in Oxford?" Eden asked. Then with resignation in his voice added, “but of course you were."

"There's no need to fuss, Mrs Potts." Ezra murmured as his housekeeper settled the tray over his knees.

Eden got up and stood by the window gazing speculatively out onto the marshy landscape. "If it weren't for her fussing you'd be dead."

Mrs Potts shot the man a deathly glare. "I made Sergeant S. bring me back before the causeway closed. Couldn't abide the thought of you out here alone after young Eric's funeral. And lucky I did." She folded her arms. 

"Thank you, my dear woman." Ezra murmured. He focused on his breakfast, shame burning the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed it to happen again. Ever since Eric’s death he’d had these episodes that crept up to him whenever he was at his lowest. Whispers in the dark that were slowly driving him to desperation. 

"Well, far easier to save you then going begging for a new position without references,” Mrs Potts muttered.

"I'm sure my cousin would have written you references if it had come to that."

"Noted," said Mrs Potts. "I'll think more on the state of my petticoats next time then, shall I sir?" 

"Don't you dare." Ezra managed to laugh. Pretend everything was alright and everything would be. Until, of course, the pressure found a crack from which to hiss free again. God's sake, but he was tired of fighting it. Tired of being  _ him _ .

Mrs Potts gave Ezra a look that said quite clearly that she didn't believe it, and that they would be having words as soon as she felt him able. 

Eden watched them with a smirk that was far too knowing. "This is heartwarming. But not the first time it's happened, judging by the urgency of the summons."

"Summons? Who are you?" Ezra snapped. Really, he’d put up with quite enough already. 

Eden stepped away from the window and handed over a plain white card, marked with an ink line drawing of a man and woman, naked beneath an apple tree. Ezra handed it back before it could bite him, or corrupt him further. "Is this really necessary?" 

Not a lot was really known about the Authority, but that by no means stopped people filling the void with rumour. They were a magical police force with the power of life and death over anyone who crossed them. They could read your mind, alter your thoughts, convince you to feel and say things that no civilised person would even contemplate. They did not follow any rules ordained by God which led to whispers of depravity and deviancy taking place behind closed doors. All this had been made very clear to Ezra when he was in training for the church. 

"You haven't attempted to end your life three times in the last few weeks then? Possibly through the influence of a reoccurring spectre?" Eden said. He had tensed, jaw and shoulders near quivering in response to Ezra’s shock. 

"It appears Mrs Potts may require those references after all seeing as I told her that in confidence.” Ezra huffed. When stated like that in the broad light of day it really did seem like a problem. “And I hardly see how unsubstantiated reports of possible magical activity in the middle of nowhere would warrant the Authority's attention."

"Lucky for you my manager wanted me out of the city." Eden’s mouth twisted. 

“I can’t imagine why.”

Eden's smile became predatory. “You and I are going to get along just perfectly.”

The bedroom door slammed open and Mrs Device entered with much less decorum than Mrs Potts had. But then it was part of her mission to do everything with as little decorum as possible. It wasn’t that she moved too fast or too loud, but just did everything with no regard for authority. 

“Mrs Device!” Ezra said with as much weight as a man could when not wearing his drawers. “Is my house Euston Station?!”

Completely unimpressed by this display of clerical chastisement, Mrs Device huffed. “Could be. Your cousin, Sir Gabriel is here.”

Ezra rolled his eyes heavenward. “Oh, good lord!”

  
  


Eden ventured out of the kitchen door and into what he could only think of as far too much scenery, made worse by far too much weather. He turned his coat collar up against the chill. It wasn't even that windy, but this small patch of solid ground in the middle of the saltmarsh was so damn flat that the air just blew across it unhindered apart from the vicarage squatting behind him and the hulking great beast of the church along the track. Everything else was water and sky, and an excess of noisy birds. 

He'd even had to wait for the tide to go out before he could travel along the causeway to get here. St-Beryl's-At-The-End-Of-The-World, indeed.

Neither of the women had followed him out of the kitchen, so Eden took off his tinted lenses and looked at the landscape properly. He blinked at the sharpness of the light. In London his vision was protected by a gloomy layer of smog. Here the sun shone unchecked, even on an overcast day like this one. Eden rubbed his eyes and focused on the energy of the place. There were the blurred lines typical of an area between. Not earth, not water, not sky. An unsettled, confused pulse of washed out colour. The only thing sure of itself was the church, saturated as it was in centuries of human belief giving it confidence. Yet even that looked off. There was a stain of something just visible at the base of the tower. Eden stepped closer, squinting against the light. He’d need to hire a pony and trap and bring some of his equipment down here. 

"It's being out here in this ridiculous place!" It was a voice that boomed. Even the restless wind hushed before it. 

Eden dropped his glasses over his eyes and turned. Mr. Eastgate's bedroom window was open, and as Eden sidled towards it, the good Reverend's voice said, "May I remind you I'm in this ridiculous place at your behest?" 

"I thought it would help. Didn't I promise your mother I'd help by keeping you away from temptation. But it's addled your brain. Made you fanciful. What were you thinking?"

"How peaceful the water looked." The words were so very dry. Eden had to bite back a snort of laughter. 

"Come to dinner. Michael wants to see you. Make sure you're alright. She worries too." Sir Gabriel spoke with a brash confidence. So confident that apparently he didn't actually need to listen to what his cousin said. He seemed to be having a completely different conversation. 

"If she wanted to see me, she would have been as welcome here today as you are,” Eastgate replied.

Eden's teeth dug into the inside of his cheek. He hadn't expected a country curate to be interesting. Especially not one with too pale skin and dishwater brown hair. Definitely hadn't expected him to be funny, or to flush with indignation so prettily.

Perhaps a couple of days in this boring back water wouldn't be such an abominable waste of time if he could spend them antagonising a fussy Reverend. Fussy, and sharp and remarkably composed for a man who'd tried to drown himself last night. 

Eden gnawed distractedly on his thumb nail. If there was any misuse of magical practises then it did sound like Eastgate was the focus of it. The man’s aura had been distorted, jumping in worried little spikes while he'd slept. 

"You! Sir!" 

Eden turned, plastering on his humouring authority figure's smile. This, then, was the cousin, Sir Gabriel Goodspeed, sailing towards him on smarm and self importance. 

Eden had planned to walk back to the kitchen door anyway, but stayed where he was for the pleasure of watching Sir Gabriel's fine shoes slip on the damp grass. He was clearly a fit man though overcoming the inconvenience of treacherous terrain and the eternal bloody wind to make it to Eden's side. 

"You must be the magician," he bellowed. 

Eden grimaced. He preferred crafter, but people like him were quite often called much worse than  _ magician _ . His hand was taken in a firm slightly aggressive grip. Touch always made it easier to read people, and this man was most definitely hiding something. Then again, wasn't everybody? There was a reason Eden always took great care with his pronunciation, his deportment. The upper classes could smell a forgery among them. 

"I own Angel's Rest. The biggest land holding in this part of the county," Sir Gabriel said by way of introduction. 

Eden wondered exactly what part of the county Sir Gabriel was including in those calculations in order to get the right results. Uninterested as he was in agriculture or encouraging Sir Gabriel's self importance, Eden continued to smile his empty smile. 

"You'll be here about the boy's death then,” Sir Gabriel decided. 

Not quite, but Eden nodded anyway. The probability of a connection between the boy’s (did Sir Gabriel even know his name?) and whatever was plaguing Eastgate was a possibility not to be discounted just yet. 

"I fear you've made a wasted journey. There was nothing occult involved. He was an unhappy young man who took his own life. The Constabulary agreed."

"Still. I have been summoned. If it is all as you say I'll be on my way home in a few days."

"No doubt, and no doubt you'll soon discover my young cousin had nothing to do with it. Far too soft for anything violent, and not quite right in the head, if I'm honest. Fills it up with all sorts of peculiar notions."

"Indeed?" 

"Finding the body… Well, it made him quite distressed."

"Imagine, being distressed at finding the drowned and bloated corpse of one of your young parishioners washed up by your church. And before breakfast at that."

Sir Gabriel nodded sagely, confirming that he was entirely immune to sarcasm. "Come and dine at Angel's Rest tonight then. We are having a bit of a gathering, it’ll be a chance for you to be introduced to the local society.”

And a chance for local society to take his measure too, no doubt. Eden would rather swallow nails. Still, he would probably need their support if the investigation did throw up any magical shenanigans. As Sir Gabriel stomped and slithered his way back to his gig, Eden returned to the kitchen to acquaint himself more fully with prime suspects one and two. Just because it had been Mrs Device who had written the summoning letter didn’t mean they were innocent.

People, generally, rarely where. 

They were in the kitchen, sat either side of a corner of the old oak table, huddled over a teapot and gossiping furiously. As Eden's shadow darkened the door their voices hushed. They Looked up at Eden with expressions equal parts fear and resentment. Par for the course really. Half the messes the Authority found itself trying to sort out were the results of interfering hedgewitches like these two. There was probably a love charm gone wrong, or a slightly too accurate fortune in the mix somewhere. Petty inconveniences between neighbours that had all blown out of proportion until people were paying witches to curse each other's cows. 

The cause of the other half of the messes the Authority were called upon to sort out didn't bear thinking about. Power hungry, mad men who felt entitled to take what they liked with no inkling of responsibility. 

"Cup of tea, sir?" Mrs Potts asked, fully implying if Eden said yes she'd find a way to spit in it. 

"I should be going." Mrs Device stood up. 

"And after you took such pains to bring me here." Eden took the summoning letter from his pocket and smoothed the paper out on the table. 

All three of them stood now, still and watchful. Eden pushed his fingers beneath his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He rested his free hand on the table to steady himself. "Look, I don't particularly want to be here either, but you did summon the Authority, presumably because you both care a great deal for that man upstairs. I promise that I will do everything I can to find and eliminate whatever is causing his distress, be it magical or mundane, but here's the thing, I'm lazy and I don't know the flow of energies here as well as either of you, and I'm guessing the only reason I'm here is because you've tried to help him already and not succeeded. So, why don't you tell me what you know. I don't care if you've been peddling fortunes under the table to make your rent, or selling fake charms to young girls who think they're in love. As I mentioned, I'm lazy and I don't want the paperwork so any little indiscretions won't go any further than me. Do we understand each other?"

The women nodded, somewhat mollified. Eden sat down. The women joined him. 

Eden was weary. He'd travelled a long way to a land he didn’t know, and had said more words so far this morning than he was comfortable speaking in a week. 

He'd not heard from Luke either. Fuck Luke. It was time to be quiet and listen. "So, tell me about Reverend Eastgate."

"Mr. Eden," said a gentle voice from the hallway. "If you have any questions, why don't you ask him yourself?" 

Eastgate stood in the doorway, dressed for company. He was still pale, made worse by the black uniform of his profession. It washed him out, wrapped him up tight, and drew attention to the tight, bruised looking skin around his eyes. He’d look much better wearing something else, anything else. Or nothing at all, Eden’s unhelpful brain decided. 

Both women immediately found something to do. Eden had no such excuse. 

"Bring tea into the drawing room, would you, Mrs Potts?" Eastgate motioned for Eden to precede him. Eden did so, trying as hard as he could not to feel like a naughty school boy about to get six of the best. And wouldn't that just be a provocative turn of events? The Reverend had a good set of shoulders on him, after all. 

He crossed the hallway and went into the drawing room. It was as chaotic as the man’s bedroom. Eden couldn’t abide having things out of place and the piles and towers of objects cluttered around and about made his hands itch. The door shut gently behind him.

“Take a seat.” Eastgate took the chair on the left hand side of the fire. The one that had the well shaped cushions molded to the back of it, and the table with the least dusty pile of books nearby. Some spectacles rested on top of them. Eden didn’t doubt that the man probably had several pairs at strategic points all round the house, and was regularly unable to find any of them. 

Eden sat in the ‘company’ chair which promptly tried to suck him down like he was so much loose change. He wiggled so he could lounge safely, his ankle rested on his opposite knee and chin propped on his hand. 

“Would you mind taking those off?” Eastgate motioned to his own face, indicating Eden’s dark glasses. 

“Yes,” Eden said. “I would.”

Eastgate’s mouth twisted with displeasure, but that was thankfully an end to the matter. 

“Why are you really here, Mr Eden?”

“Concern for your well being. And it’s just Eden, if you please.”

Eastgate snorted. Whether this was the pretense of ‘just Eden, if you please’ or that anyone would be concerned for his well being was hard to guess. He was an odd one. So carefully put together, so cautious and precise, but that aura of his had been as ungoverned as the physical mess surrounding them.

“I’m here to investigate what sounds like a case of magical malpractice. Do you deny that you told Mrs Potts that you were being haunted by a spectre who was encouraging you to take your own life?”

Eastgate's mouth pursed. “I...well, it was late, and I’d...had a bad dream.”

“That prompted you into the kitchen to find a knife? And down to the water last night?”

“Look...Mr Eden…”

“Eden. Just Eden.”

“If it was my cousin who summoned you…?”

Mrs Potts, of course, chose that moment to appear with the tea things. Eastgate’s back was to the door so he couldn’t see the imploring look she shot Eden over her employer’s head.

“You think Sir Gabriel summoned me?” Eden said. “You know, of course, that I can’t reveal that information while an investigation is ongoing?” And he gave Eastgate a smile, so understanding that it would do nothing to dissuade him from the story he’d already decided to believe. 

Mrs Potts relaxed. She almost smiled at Eden as she put the tray down on the table next to them (well, on a relatively flat pile of books on the table next to them). Eden would take that smile as a success. As much as he hated to admit it he was going to need help. There was a reason the Authority normally deployed it’s agents in pairs. Not that all the pairings were compliments to each other, but it helped to have a mix of specialities on a case. And to keep an eye to make sure one of you wasn’t an addict. 

Went to your head magic did. Worse than opium. You needed it to function, and could never quite get enough of it. It was walking the constant line between having too much and not having enough. Eden had been no more than eleven when he’d learned that. A fire had torn its way through part of the rookery where he'd lived. Amidst the madness of bucket chains and screaming, Eden had flung out his arms letting the power of all that hot energy crackle through his veins. He’d wanted it. Aware that as cool and in control he tried to be on the surface his heart raged with joy at the madness of it, that it triggered something primal inside him. He wanted to ride the destruction of those flickering tongues and direct it, and at the same time wished he could unravel, that it would swallow him whole so that he would only exist as something greater than himself. 

The chaos of that moment still haunted him. 

“It doesn’t matter who summoned me,” Eden said, “we’re going to be spending a lot of time together until I get to the bottom of this. And if you want to get rid of me the best thing you can do is not be a prissy pain in my arse.”

Mrs Potts clattered the sugar tongs against the bowl. 

“Thank you,” said Eastgate curtly. “I’ll finish serving.”

Mrs Potts shot Eden a warning look as she left. Honestly though, what was the prissy pain going to do? He may have boxed for Oxford, but he was a gentleman. There were rules of hospitality to adhere to. Eden would have to be substantially more offensive before Eastgate would even think of demanding satisfaction. 

If things got really dull, Eden would see just how much offense Eastgate could take before his gloves came off.

Eastgate shuffled forward in his seat to hand Eden his tea cup. “Seed cake?”

“No.” Eden didn’t really want the tea either. 

“Mrs Potts is a very good baker.”

“Thank you, but I don’t eat much.” Oh, excellent. Chit chat. Eden rubbed his eyes again. 

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.” And had there been just a hint of appreciation in the once over Eastgate had just given him? Well, what if there was? Luke wasn’t coming back. Eden sat up just a tiny bit straighter. He'd take what attention he could get. 

“I suppose Gabriel invited you for dinner at Angel’s Rest tonight?” Eastgate served himself a generous portion of cake and settled back in his cushions.

“He did.”

“Well, best come along with me then.” A handkerchief was produced from one of Eastgate’s many pockets. He dabbed at his mouth carefully. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

It was an off hand remark, but there was a sense of caution in the words. They were weighted and deliberate. 

“Funny, I was thinking the same of you,” Eden murmured.

Eastgate raised his eyes, shooting Eden another of those quick, appraising looks. “Here’s to making the best of it then.” Eastgate lifted his tea cup in salute. 

"And surprising allies." Eden grinned and responded. 

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I'm just being polite.” There was a touch of wickedness to Eastgate's smile, quickly hidden behind his tea cup.

Oh yes. This job was definitely looking up. 


	2. CHAPTER II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes survive an angelic dinner party, a hellish drive and far too much exposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter. Hopefully the next one is going to have more action (and smooching)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who is reading.

Angel's Rest lived up to its name. There were angels everywhere. Thousands of oppressive eyes watched and judged Eden's every move from the keystone over the front door to the ornaments, paintings, and fabrics. 

"I know," Eastgate sighed as they entered the drawing room. "The decor is somewhat on the nose." His hand ran over his coat pocket. There was something in there bothering him, Eden was sure of it. Before he could try and weedle it out of the reverend though, they were dragged into the purgatory of small talk with the host. (Angel wings on his cravat pin, would you believe?) 

Crowley's palms itched. His mouth a rictus of smiles. Luke had always been the one who could talk to the toffs. The one with the charm and the air of authority. In the gaslight, in his not quite expensive enough suit with the low buzz of conversation softening the air, Eden was too aware of the shifting sands he'd built his life on. He could smell the filth of Seven Dials on his heels and the equally noxious stench of Pentonville Prison in his future. 

The steady presence of Eastgate at his shoulder was not at all reassuring in the face of Sir Gabriel's patronising eyebrows, and the cool curiosity of his sister. She watched Eden like a bug trapped under a magnifying glass. Any minute now she was going to work out the angle to burn him with sunlight. 

Eden knuckled down and played their game. There'd be time enough to show his hand. No need to rush because in his experience gentlemen were rarely gentle men. They’d be as sweet as jam until you did something they didn’t like, and then you’d be kicked unceremoniously back where you’d come from.

Eden made it through the inane chit chat of hunting, and fishing and land management, and to the dinner table with nothing more than a few curious stares. It was an intimate gathering, but Sir Gabriel was very keen to show Eden off, and tell everybody why he was there and exactly why the endeavour was so futile. 

Eden amused himself by complimenting the angels on the flatware with only the barest hint or irony. It was made doubly delicious by Eastgate being the only one at the table astute enough to pick up on Eden's tone. 

By the time the steamed pudding and raspberry cream were bought out the poor reverend was squirming. Whether from mortification or the effort of suppressing laughter, Eden couldn't quite make out. 

Eastgate flashed him a pleading, desperate look before hiding behind his napkin. Eden grinned at him and was rewarded with an in delicate snort. 

“Don’t you chaps normally come in pairs?” Mr Sandalphon, the second biggest landowner in the county, asked. The way he said it was suggestive enough that although the other conversations around the table didn’t stop, they did quieten. 

Eden took his time, savouring the pudding, swallowing, dabbing his mouth. “I’m currently between partners.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Sir Gabriel’s sister, Miss Michael Goodspeed sounded sorry, but her eyes were keen. The thought of Eden’s grief, didn’t put her off stabbing the unfortunate pudding with her cutlery. 

“No need. It was his choice to move on.”

_We could still see each other._

“His choice? But don't you…bond?” Miss Goodspeed made a pretense of looking uncomfortable at even suggesting such a thing. 

Conversations hushed. Miss Goodspeed's words hung over the dinner table like a fog. Eden glanced at Eastgate who was paying particular attention to his food, although his cheeks did look rather warm. There was the option, of course, for Eden to pretend he had no idea what they were alluding to. When he was younger he would have done just that. Strung them all along with half-truths and misdirections, but he didn’t have the patience for it now. And really, Eden didn’t know the truth of it himself. He only knew one pair of bonded complements, and Bea and Dagon rarely talked about what that meant. It was hardly understood by the magic community to be honest, but it was silently accepted around the office that the two women were both a professional and romantic unit. 

And that only a fool would piss them off. 

What fascinated Eden was that he had seen them hold hands, each with bloodied palms, eyes glowing balls in their skulls, while they'd directed lightning to hit a moving target. 

They'd got the miscreant on the second try too. 

Eden shivered, remembering the temptation of his childhood fire, and what he might have become that day if he’d been braver, or more foolish. 

Eden put down his napkin. “We were just partners. Working partners. Nothing more than that.” 

“You have to admit it is rather an odd set up you lot have going on,” Sir Gabriel said. "The whole idea of being tied together like that."

“Not at all,” Eastgate said to his bowl. “Finding someone that you can connect with. Who represents those things that you lack in yourself and makes you more whole because of it. Surely we should all seek such spiritual enlightenment? Surely that was what you hoped to cultivate with your late wife, Gabriel?”

Crowley blinked. He desperately wanted to remove his glasses, because it looked like the twisting mess of Eastgate's aura had resolved itself into something, sharp and bright and whole. It glowed. His dirty brown hair looked richer, his skin warmer. And those eyes, which quickly flicked up to meet Eden's gaze, were bright and clear as diamonds. 

The man was beautiful. He had been hiding in plain site this whole time. And now Eden had realised that he couldn't stop looking. 

No one else noticed the transformation. Or if they did, they didn't care.

Sir Gabriel waved a dismissive hand at his cousin. “Yes, but you're missing the point. We were married. It's an ordained sacrament, Ezra. They’re just a group of chaps."

“We employ women at the Authority too.” Eden spoke while watching Eastgate shrink back into himself. His aura began to tangle again as he sipped his soup. 

Miss Goodspeed sat up straighter. There was a distinct look between herself and her equally terrifying school friend, Miss Uriel, who seemed attached to her at the hip. 

"They have to be twice as impressive as little old me, mind you,” Eden flashed his teeth in something approximate to a smile. “My manager is a woman." 

Not that you'd know it to look at Bea, of course. The truth was, genuine power in a crafter, not just the dabbling in the shallows of hedgewitchery, but someone who could connect straight to energy, was so rare that the Authority couldn't afford to be choosy. If that meant employing women, or deviants like Crowley, then they would. And they'd rejoice, because the more they could hold over you, the more they could make you toe the line. 

Sandalphon looked pleased with himself. Eden prepared himself for a comment about being managed by a woman. Miss Goodspeed apparently saw it coming too because she spoke over him, "We have quite the history of magic in our family." 

Any gratitude Eden might have felt at the rescue evaporated. Claiming a crafter for an ancestor was something the gentry did for fashion, right along with buying oriental china. As despised and misunderstood as actual, real life crafters were, one perched in the branch of a family tree lent an air of mystery to a dynasty. 

Presumably because a dead great grandparent couldn't force his way into your home and demand that you stop whatever ridiculous fiddling about with the balance of preternatural forces you were up to. And then arrest you. Or kill you. Whichever was most expedient to reinstating balance.

Still, given the less than subtle eye roll Sir Gabriel directed at his sister, and the positive despair radiating from Eastgate in waves, Eden decided this was a crack in the family veneer that was worth picking at. “Miss Goodspeed!” He oozed fake charm towards her. “Please, tell me everything.” 

Miss Goodspeed did. There was barely time for the plates to be cleared before she was marching them all off on a grand tour. In vain did her brother try to derail the expedition with trivia on the cost of installing a new fireplace or the exact number of windows in the building. 

Miss Goodspeed was single minded in her passions and only let them rest when they'd reached the life sized portrait of her several times great grandfather hung in the upstairs gallery. He hardly looked the type to wield phenomenal power and launch a family tree, but then you never could tell, and paintings didn’t have auras. Unless they were possessed, and Eden did not want to deal with _that_ again. 

No, this man was merely oil on canvas. He was decked out in his finest frippery, all pale pastels and lace. His hair was a white floofy puff on his head, and he held a walking stick, probably only so the artist could paint the light glinting off the ring on his little finger. The family guardian angel, Miss Goodspeed called him as though using his actual name was a familiarity no one deserved. 

Not bad legs on the family guardian angel, Eden noted, but he was less interested in that than Miss Goodspeed’s absolute adoration for him. She spun quite the tale of hereditary power bound up in secret to a lost heirloom. 

But, _of course!_

Eden was a crafter and a thief. He could guess what the heirloom might be, and if the angel had insisted on flashing it about like that he could guess what had happened to it. 

At least Eden now knew who was responsible for the fucking cherubs on the wainscotting. 

Not that the cherubs were actually _fucking_ on the wainscotting. Would have been more interesting if they were. 

Miss Goodspeed's tale reached its climax. Rude as ignoring her was, Eden had heard enough and couldn't resist the opportunity for mischief. He'd been edging his way closer to Eastgate since they'd stopped and was now in the perfect position to dip his head over the other man's shoulder. 

"Angel looks like you," Eden murmured. 

"No." Eastgate's posture tensed. "He doesn't. Please excuse me."

Eastgate hurried away down the gallery. No one else saw him leave. Or if they did, they didn't care. 

Stepping out into the cool night air was an instant balm to Ezra's spirit. The guilt over his relief at escaping Angel's Rest was an ever present judgement, but he could bear it. He would do better next time, as was his constant hope. 

_Do better. Be better._

He put his hand over his pocket. The object he'd found beneath his pillow the morning he'd discovered Eric's body was still there. It was like a pin cushion, fabric stuffed with wool and smelling faintly of lavender. He'd been meaning to give it to Eden all evening. 

And then the blasted man had said he looked like the family angel, and Ezra's resolve had wilted. 

Courage never had been his forte. 

Ezra shook his head to clear his thoughts. He closed his eyes inhaling the sharpness of the night, letting it cleanse him. The gravel crunched beside him. 

Eastgate looked up at Eden, who was patiently putting on his gloves. 

“Miss Goodspeed is very knowledgeable,” Eden's voice was a low murmur, rippling with amusement.

“She responds well to encouragement,” Ezra tried to keep his face straight, curse the other man. “You have no one to blame but yourself. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Looking for?” Eden lifted his eyebrows. 

“My dear boy, you’re here to investigate magical malpractice. You can’t tell me you weren’t about to nose about given the chance.”

“Nose about!” Eden’s scoff was delightful. All mock outrage and horror. 

Ezra tried not to be charmed. He dealt out his most impatient huff. 

“Very well. What do you think about this magical family heirloom myth?”

“I don’t think of it at all,” Ezra said quickly. He swallowed carefully. “Or if I do, I think of it as just that. A myth. Power fades through the generations, that’s commonly accepted. Occasionally it will present itself in an individual unexpectedly, I'm sure that's happened to us at some stage." Ezra tried not to dwell on what may have happened to his uncle - not Gabriel's father, but his younger brother- also called Ezra for convenience's sake. The thought would not help anyone. He looked away in case the grief crept onto his face. "The idea that there is a lost object in our family, and whoever possesses it gets our seven times great grandfather’s legacy is preposterous."

It was. _It was._

“Preposterous?” Eden repeated thoughtfully. 

“Do you not think so, Mr Eden? You are, of course, the expert.” Ezra began walking quickly down the driveway. A valiant attempt at escape quickly foiled. Eden’s legs were so much longer than his. 

“No, not me. My livelihood is dealing with the preposterous. Something being preposterous doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Eden said. 

“I do hope you didn't tell Michael that!”

“I didn’t presume to tell Miss Goodspeed anything. Not that she gave me the chance.”

Eden's smile was wicked, a temptation to laughter. Ezra had been resisting it all night. He bit the inside of his lip. 

They had reached the gates where twin stone angels rose out of the top of two stone pillars set either side of the drive. The angels' wings were outspread and their arms reached out to the moon, fingers splayed as though they could rip it from the sky. The rattle of harness and whoosh of wheels on gravel cut through the silent darkness. Ezra stepped back hastily onto the damp lawn, Eden jumped after him as Mr Sandalphon’s carriage rattled past. 

There was a rush of air and the snorting of the horses, then the night crowded back in. 

"Are you walking all the way home?" Eden's profile was sharp in the moonlight. “Not staying with your family?”

 _Have you met them?_ Bubbled to the top of Ezra’s treacherous brain. That was unfair of him. He sighed. Decided to be better. "The causeway will be closed, I won't go home tonight. _The Hound and Horseshoe_ is more convenient. It's an easier journey home in the morning. Practically half way there already. Less fuss for everyone, really." Ezra was babbling, always running on. He looked away and concentrated on walking down the road.

“I’m staying at _The Hound and Horseshoe_.” Eden fell into step beside him again.

Really, Ezra should have expected that. It still sent a thrill of fear through him. Not that he had anything to fear, as such. A man like Eden surely wouldn’t look twice at him, so this unwelcome interest Ezra was feeling would never even become an issue. 

Ezra still edged away, creating a bit more space for the shadows between them. Look but don’t touch, leave your dreams on your pillow. That was the rub of it. His family knew what he was, and took pains to remind him off it, but as long as it wasn’t obvious, as long as he didn’t act on it, they were happy to let him putter along with his books and his sermons, and his quiet life. 

“Tell me about Eric,” Eden said. 

What had been his quiet life up until recently, of course. “I’m sure the autopsy told you all you need to know," Ezra said quicker, and harder than he meant to. 

“Yes, about how long he may have been in the water, and whether there was any abnormal bruising. I want to know about _him_.”

“We weren’t friends. He was a member of my congregation.” Which wasn’t a lie. Still it stung Ezra's conscience. 

“He never spoke to you?”

“If he did, I can assure you it was in the utmost confidence,” Eden said primly. He did not let himself think of that afternoon. Of Eric’s wide beautiful eyes, so hopeful for understanding and sympathy. Ezra should have focused on that, and not on his own fear. 

“As will anything you tell me," Eden persisted. 

Ezra worried his lip. There was no avoiding it. The shame and guilt of it would be picked away eventually. He couldn’t find it in himself to make it easy on either of them though. “I suppose I _could_ tell a man like you," Ezra conceded. 

“ _Like me?_ Mr Eastgate, you do not know any men _like me_.” Eden’s voice rose as he laughed. 

Oh, but Ezra did. He’d seen lots of men like Eden in Portland Place before Gabriel had 'rescued' him and unceremoniously dragged him home. Men who’d mushroomed up from the slums and, through luck and graft, had made a place for themselves on the edges of the demi-monde. Beautiful, exotic creatures who tried so hard to fit in, even though they were meant to shine brighter than anything else. Fast thinking, fast talking, dreadfully modern and seizing every experience that they could. Although Eden’s brightness was tarnished with age and cynicism, it still flickered enough to draw Ezra towards it. He saw it in the way Eden’s hips moved, just outrageous enough to be noticed, if not commented on. The way his lip curled and sneered, daring his betters to take offense. 

“Eric came to me a few weeks before he died. He was having a crisis of conscience. Of self,” Ezra admitted carefully. The trees had given way to the first houses of the village now, and you never knew who could overhear. 

Eden remained silent for a moment as their feet carried them over the bridge and into the village centre. His head turned, and under the dark lensed regard, Ezra felt cut open. 

“He’d realised he liked men, you mean?" Eden said carefully. "And what did you say…? Wait, don’t tell me.” Eden groaned. “I can imagine what a man _like you_ would say.”

And didn’t that just sting right down to Ezra's guts. _Bebetterbebetter_. “I gave him what support I could.”

“You bastard,” Eden snarled. 

Ezra's head whipped round and his feet stumbled to a halt. “Would you have encouraged him to follow a path that could lead to prison? Or the gallows?" He had done the right thing. He had! What else could he have done? _It’s fine, dear boy, I’m just the same. Tried to follow my heart and look how that turned out. Never mind..._

“So you did what? Encouraged him to follow a path of lies and fakery? Of misery and isolation?” Eden glared down at him, brows furrowed, teeth bared. 

“I wanted to keep him safe…” Ezra protested. 

“Well done.”

Ezra gasped. He'd never wanted to punch someone so much in his life. Not even Gabriel. How dare this person come to his home insulting him and… Be absolutely right! 

_Be better._

There it was, the flicker of numbness at the edge of his mind, the ice creeping through his veins. It was all so clear. He should have been better, and he hadn't. Not for Eric. Not for Uncle Ezra. Not in London. He was pathetic really. The well of darkness opened up beneath Ezra's feet, sucking on his heels. Just step towards it… 

"Mr Eastgate!" 

It was another ice cold sweep of reality. Ezra was selfish, and cowardly, an absolute fool. Coming all to pieces like this. He spun away, heading for the light of _The Hound's_ bow window. 

"Eastgate! Damn you! What was that?" Eden strode after him. 

"You're the expert, my dear."

Eden grabbed his arm. Eastgate shook him off, stepping back. Eden stepped forward, fists clenched. Brought up short by _The Hound's_ wall, Eastgate raised his chin. Eden loomed over him, quivering in rage. It was intimidating, and… 

Ezra swallowed. No. Push it away. The heat of a wool coat, the slight camp fire scent, the temptation of being close enough to have the roughness of a thumb, encased in a leather glove, drawn over his bottom lip. Ezra closed his eyes. 

Eden's voice, harsh and gravelly chased him into the dark. "That boy is dead, and it's looking increasingly likely that you are next. I'm not here to be your bloody conscience…" 

Eden's breath tickled Ezra's ear. He laughed in shock. A desperate whine of a thing. 

"... I'm here to get the job done and go home. I want to go home. You want me to go home. We want the same thing."

Ezra opened his eyes. Eden leaned forward so their faces were at the same level. The corner of his mouth was curled, not cruel, but unforgiving. One of his eyebrows quirked above the rim of his lenses. 

"We do not!" Ezra managed despite his jagged breathing. "I am nothing like you, and I will thank you, sir, not to crowd me."

Eden did not roll his eyes so much as his whole head at that tone. Ezra knew he sounded completely insufferable, but it was a defence, of a sort. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the pin cushion and thrust it hard at Eden's chest. 

He regretted that immediately. His fingertips pressed against the wool coat, right above where Eden's heart would be. If he possessed one. 

Eden lifted his glasses with one hand, the other coming down to accept the object. His fingers touched Ezra's. Despite them both wearing their gloves, Ezra's skin sang. He pulled back quickly. 

Eden nearly dropped the cushion, letting his glasses fall back into place so he could save it. “What’s this?” he asked. 

“No idea, as I've said already, you're the expert."

That whole head roll again, accompanied by a weary sigh. Like a long suffering nanny facing a petulant charge who wouldn't drink his milk. Ezra bristled.

"It was under my pillow, the, er, morning I found Eric. I want you gone as soon as possible. If the way to do that is help you with your enquiries then that is what I will do. Very best of luck with that, Mr Eden!” Ezra stomped into the Inn. 

Eden was not by habit an early riser. Easier to stay up, carousing all night than face the silence of his lodgings. He wondered though, if what he had previously lacked was the correct motivation. There was no chance he was letting Eastgate sneak off this morning without him and so he'd got up early. 

Not that Eden was going to apologise. He had nothing to apologise for. At all. But when Eastgate had been talking there was a fear there, something warping his aura further into darkness. And not just fear, but something more sinister. Although Eastgate had thrown his rage and frustration at Eden, there had been an unhealthy portion of it very much turned in on himself. His aura had been howling with it. 

And when Eden had come close to him. Well, even in the poor light, Eastgate's desire was palpable. All snarled in self loathing and shame, as to be expected, really. It was nostalgic actually. Reminded Eden of Luke in one of his moods. 

Not that Eden was here to make it all better for the infuriating reverend, but he did need to get to the bottom of a haunting, and he was in the uncomfortable position of needing Eastgate’s goodwill to do that. Which was why Eden was up with the birds watching Mrs Device’s husband harangue a coal black horse with Satan’s own mood into the traces of a cart. 

The good woman herself had come to harangue Eden. “How long have you been with the Authority, Eden?”

“Long enough. They got me young.” A kindly old cove with a bastard twinkle in his eye, a mop of mad blond hair, and an equally mad moustache had caught Eden using glamour to pick pockets. An abominable waste of talent, apparently. Eden cared less for the flattery than the hot meal that was promised if he came along like a good chap. 

“Hmm.” Mrs Device had a chin built for tilting. She lifted it at Eden now, her eyes narrowing behind her thick rimmed glasses. “And why don’t you have a partner?”

God’s arse! This again. “Insurmountable differences.”

Eden had been in love. Luke had been in debt. 

There are many things a gentleman in debt can do to retrieve his honour and marrying his heiress cousin was one of them. 

_We can still see each other._

But no one must see them. Eden's hands clenched. He looked down at the two crates of equipment at his feet. There was still work to do. Lots of other things to focus on. 

“Painful subject, is it?” Mrs Device folded her arms. 

“You’re very nosey.” Eden glanced sideways at her. If her husband dealt with this all day no wonder he preferred the horse. 

“It’s hard to trust a man who won't give you his real name.” Her aura bristled an angry orange. 

“Names have power, Mrs Device.” 

Her husband was making no headway with the horse. "Does Mr. Device need assistance?" Eden asked in a way that suggested he would be happy to escape and find someone to help rather than offer said assistance himself.

"Pulsifer,” Mrs Device said. “My husband’s name is Pulsifer.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow.

Her smile could have melted butter. "Names have power, Mr. Eden."

"Of course. And there has been a Device in the village since the fifteenth century, or thereabouts, I imagine.” He made himself sound bored. It wasn't difficult. 

"Longer." The pride in her voice could have smashed bricks. 

"Which no doubt made you even more determined not to give the name up."

The horse whinnied, clattering his hooves on the cobbles. Pulsifer jumped back with a cry. 

“What’s all this racket?” Eastgate bustled out onto the step.

“My dear Pulsifer is having a set to with Bentley again,” Mrs Device observed. 

“Goodness me.” Eastgate ran forward, seizing the bridle and assisting Pulsifer with getting all four hooves back on the ground. The horse snorted, trying to toss his head. 

Eastgate was stronger than he looked. He kept hold of the horse, drawing its head down so he could stroke it's quivering neck until the animal was calm enough for Pulsifer to hitch him to the cart. 

Eden had never wanted to be a horse before. The idea of having Eastgate whispering in his ear and caressing his nose, however, suddenly seemed the most delicious thing in the world. 

He hefted the crate at his feet. It tinkled and clunked. “Can I offer you a ride, reverend? I’m heading your way.”

“My way?” Eastgate stepped back from the horse, who stamped in protest. 

“Didn’t think you’d be rid of me so easy, did you?” Eden smiled as obnoxiously as he could. "I want to do some tests on that island of yours."

Success! Eastgate would have fluffed up his feathers, if he'd had them. “I'd rather hoped I'd be rid of you. I can see now that was ill founded.”

“What in the world is this?” Mrs Device was exploring the contents of the second box. She stood up holding a thin metal rod with what looked like the sails of a very small windmill fixed on top. 

Eden lunged for her. “That’s very precariously balanced equipment.”

“Like it’s owner, I imagine,” Eastgate observed. 

Eden glowered. “It locates disturbances in energy, specifically the warped aura that can manifest when a ghost tries to take form.”

Mrs Device frowned. “Really, you need all this gadgetry for that? If you do then you aren’t doing it right.”

“May I remind you, I am here because you weren’t doing it right.” Eden shooed her away from the box. 

“You’re missing the point of it then," she snapped. 

“Some of us have graduated beyond blood, bone and birdspit, thank you.” Eden remembered Mr Fell, the jovial old cove who'd recruited him, making a gold ring vanish in his handkerchief with sleight of hand and nothing more. It's not the ring that's magic, young Anthony. It's you. 

Eden had only paid attention because he'd wanted to make the ring disappear too. He'd never been quick enough to pinch it from Fell though. He'd been a sharp one. Probably reading all those books. 

Eden held the box of equipment close to his chest and pushed the memory away. These regulators were an important advancement in magic. He'd designed them himself. 

“Still got the charm I gave you, Mr Eastgate?” Mrs Device called past Eden. 

“Yes, thank you, my dear.” 

But he didn't meet her eyes and his jagged warp of an aura went an uncomfortable shade of blue. 

Mrs Device nodded and swept back into the inn. Pulsifer tugged his forelock and hurried after her. 

"Well then, shall we?" Eden checked the straps holding his crates in place and then offered his hand to Eastgate as though he was the picture of gallantry. 

Eastgate pointedly ignored him, pulling himself up onto the cart's seat which gave Eden leisure to appreciate his arse. Never hurt to look, did it? 

Eden eyed the horse next. He was a poor city boy through and through, the closest he had ever come to the animals had been stealing a ride by jumping on the back of a handsome cab. 

He could recognise a kindred spirit when he saw one though. Anger and attitude, and no idea what to do with any of it. Eden lowered his glasses and looked Bentley right in the eye. 

The horse bucked its head and whinnied. Eden lifted an eyebrow. Bentley snorted. An accord was reached. 

Eden swung himself up into the cart's driver seat. He took hold of the reins and gave Bentley the order to go. 

"God have mercy!" Eastgate screeched as they nearly flew out of _The Hound's_ gate. "Slow down!" 

"Relax, Bentley knows what he's about," Eden laughed. 

"He is not the one supposed to be in charge!" One of Eastgate's hands gripped the seat, the other the brim of his hat. 

Eden cackled as the scenery bled past in a rush. The cart bounced over the bridge. Eventually, Bentley slowed to a trot. 

Eastgate unclenched, sitting forward more and fussing with his coat. "I hope you both have that out of your systems!" 

“Let me see it," Eden said. 

“What?”

“The charm Mrs Device gave you?”

Eastgate shifted in his seat. “I, er, threw it away.”

“You what?” Eden gawped. The man truly was suicidal. Not that he credited Mrs Device’s charms with much clout, but if she ever found out the reverend’s well being would certainly be at risk. 

Eastgate straightened his shoulders, his ear tips going pink. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be in league with, whatever caused Eric's death, but, I, well. Probably foolish of me, but the last few weeks I’ve not been sure who to trust. My perception of things gets somewhat warped.”

“You can trust me.” Eden meant it. Or at least, Eastgate could trust Eden to do his job. 

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.” Eastgate’s gaze slid sideways. He looked like he had a mouthful of dirt. 

“With your warped perception? Are you sure?” Eden couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun. 

“I think your driving needs to improve considerably before I'll even consider it!" Eastgate folded his arms. 

Eden barked out a laugh and gave Bentley his head again.


	3. CHAPTER III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a ghost is hunted and mistakes are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a content warning for this chapter. Suicide attempt about halfway through after the ghost arrives, and In the last scene Ezra really isn't in a good place emotionally, although nothing more happens.

Eden was a sharp stick figure set against the washed out greys of the marsh. Limbs akimbo and coat billowing, he darted in and out of the shadows of the church tower. The wind, heedless of his exertions, continued to knock over his gadgets as soon as he'd set them up. 

Ezra sipped his tea and watched through the window from the comfort of the kitchen. The wind now had Eden's hat in its grasp. It rolled the garment through the gravestones, always just out of Eden's grasp. 

It seemed impossible that the man who had so thoroughly got under Ezra's skin last night was now bounding through the grass waving his arms about like a cursed puppet with its strings cut. Ezra was disturbed that he found Eden like this thoroughly charming. 

"I don’t know what to make of him, Mrs Potts," Ezra mused.

She came to join him, wiping the remaining flour from her fingers. "I could make a very fidgety coat stand. Possibly a garden rake?”

Ezra gave a very undignified snort.

Eden dived for his hat and went sprawling on the ground, the soles of his feet facing the sky. He climbed to his feet, swinging a kick at the long grass and then stalked back to the church, abandoning his hat to fate.

The occult gadgetry he'd assembled at the base of the church tower had been blown over again. Eden ran both hands through his tousled hair. His yell sent the crows flapping from the church roof. 

"I suppose I should offer to help him." Ezra took another sip of his tea. 

"Must you, sir?" 

It took all Ezra's will not to snort out of his nose again. Mrs Potts, bless her heart, handed him a napkin. "There's still some of that seed cake left," she tempted. 

"You've convinced me, Mrs Potts. After cake, then.“ Ezra sighed. “I never did say thank you, did I? For helping me.”

“No need sir. Just don’t do it again. Although a Christmas bonus wouldn’t go amiss.” She sniffed. 

“Noted.” Ezra took the slice of cake she handed him. “Thank you.”

  
  


After cake Ezra found his way cautiously across to the church, one hand clasping tea in Mrs Potts' least favoured mug and the other holding the final slice of cake wrapped in a cloth. 

Eden was packing most of his gadgetry back into their crates. His mouth had a sour downturn to it. 

"How are you getting along?" Ezra called out brightly. 

"Does this place always have so much bloody weather?" Eden stood, placing his hands in the small of his back and stretching. 

He was fully clothed. There was no reason to look twice, but the moan he made bounced behind Ezra's ribs and landed straight in his groin. " Afraid so." Ezra swallowed." Because we're so, ah, exposed. Oodles of weather. All the time. Never stops. Tea!" 

Eden turned, frowning. "Tea?" 

Despite his mind grinding to a halt, Ezra managed to hold out the mug. Eden was not completely clothed after all. His firelight hair was ruffled, and the wind had whipped some colour into his cheeks. His glasses were resting on top of one of the crate lids. 

Ezra blinked. 

Eden blinked back, with too wide eyes of gold, slit pupils thin in the bright light. 

"Shit!" Eden dropped to the ground and snagged up his glasses. 

"And cake!" Ezra turned away, embarrassed to have seen something that felt so personal. Even if the raw beauty of those eyes had quite snatched his heart away again. 

Eden stood, glasses back in place. He accepted the mug. "Ta muchly."

And there was something of the Thames estuary in his vowels. Thick as river sludge. 

Ezra wished he hadn't noticed that either. He already felt like he'd witnessed far more than he wasn't meant too. "So, tell me about your contraptions," he said desperately. 

" _Contraptions,_ " Eden growled. "These are highly calibrated devices for measuring energy, and the frequency and vibrations thereof."

"Really? Because that one looks like a theodolite. They used them when planning improvements to the railway track last year." Eastgate lifted his eyebrows, the picture of polite enquiry. 

Eden shot him a look that was so miffed it was positively adorable. Almost as adorable as the enthusiasm he'd shown for his not-contraptions in the first instance. 

"That helps me position them in relation to ley lines," Eden said. 

"Ley lines!" 

Mrs Device had given Ezra a thorough education in ley lines, especially how and where they ran through St. Beryl's. Apparently the church sat on a convergence, as sites that were sacred in nature often did. Aziraphale wasn't sure if he believed that exactly, but he did subscribe to the more-things-in-Heaven-and-Earth-Horatio philosophy. Not entirely an inappropriate turn of mind for a cleric, after all. He scoffed now though for the pleasure of seeing Eden miffed again. 

The man began striding around the disaster that the wind had made of his not-contraptions, long hands waving as he explained their function. 

Ezra began picking away at the last slice of cake in an effort to help himself concentrate on Eden’s words. They were quick and intense, spilling from the man's mouth almost secondary to the enthusiasm with which he waved his hands and stalked about the place. 

"All energy vibrates at a certain frequency. Which means you're vibrating at a certain frequency…" 

"Who? Me?" Ezra didn't feel like he was vibrating. At least not with anything other than fascination. Both for the subject and the teacher. 

"... So does everything you desire, or fear. Vibration attracts like vibration," Eden continued. 

"So, you're looking for what? Something that vibrates like a ghost?" 

"Like you." Eden's finger jabbed in the direction of Ezra's nose. "Seeing as you're the one attracting it. What?" 

"Nothing." For the first time Ezra was truly afraid of what Eden might be able to see. He schooled his features back into something that felt more bland. Like a docile cow. 

Eden frowned at him, but the torrent of words continued. "Energy is affected by loads of things. History, geology….The energy in London is rich, thick and stodgy…" 

"Like a good steak and kidney pudding?" Ezra managed around a mouthful of cake.

"Really?" Eden sighed with despair. "Fine, alright then. Here it's sweet and cool, crisp."

"Like pears?" 

"If you like." Eden shrugged. 

"I do like pears." 

"Except, there's something else. It's like… you a bit, actually." Eden stopped. His hand twitched to his glasses as though he wanted to lift them. He remained still. Like a dog waiting to find the scent of its prey. 

"Is it?" Ezra was unsettled to realise he didn't entirely mind being looked at like that. Which was impossible. He had too many things to hide. In a frantic effort to redirect Eden's attention he said, "The way you talk about magic doesn't make it sound like magic."

"Snot magic. What you do? That's magic!" 

"I beg your pardon?" Ezra gasped. 

The infuriating man was grinning. "Believing in something you can't see. Using words to conjure that belief. That's magic!" 

"Are you telling me _you_ can see magic?" Ezra scoffed. 

Eden tapped the side of his lenses. "I work alot with my eyes." 

Eastgate's hand stopped halfway to his mouth. Eden could see magic? But if he'd seen anything around Ezra he'd have said, wouldn't he? 

"Just because I can't see God doesn't mean I don't know he's there," Ezra said quickly. 

"That's just faith!" 

"There is nothing _just_ about faith!" Ezra knew he felt the changes in the church when the congregation prayed. The tingling in the pads of his fingers. The way the moving air would slow and thicken, change directions when he read from the bible or hymns were sung. Like a breathing thing he could twirl around his fingers and direct. 

Which felt an awful lot like Pride. It felt an awful lot like magic. 

Ezra carefully swallowed his cake. Those thoughts unsettled him. And he was not pleased by the smug curl to Eden's lip. "There is nothing _just_ about faith." Ezra smiled sweetly. "For example, I have the utmost faith in you solving this haunting."

Eden actually stepped back, eyebrows lifting. "Ngk," he managed. 

Ezra continued to smile, taking great satisfaction from seeing Eden so unsettled. 

"Where did you find Eric?" Eden asked eventually. 

Ezra's cheer vanished and a storm cloud settled over his heart. "Down there. That gap in the reeds."

"Where you went in too?" Eden turned, and this time he did lift his glasses. 

"Hmm." Ezra nodded, brushing cake crumbs from his fingers. A chill from that night breezed over his skin and for a moment he was aware of the darkness beneath him, surrounding him and trying to worm its way back in. 

Eden dropped his glasses, his head whipping round. 

Ezra forced a smile, and the darkness retreated. 

_But I will always be with you._

"What are you doing tonight?" Eden asked quietly. 

"So forward, Mr Eden." Make a joke of it, misdirect. Uncle Ezra had always said misdirection was the cornerstone of magic. Or at least the parlour tricks he'd been so fond of. 

"You'd be so lucky." Eden's own smile was tight. Strain in every line. 

"If I'm honest, I had planned a quiet night. There's a particular passage of…"

Eden shook his head. 

"No?" Ezra asked. 

"No."

Well, reading could wait. And as an a obnoxious a poppinjay as Eden was, his company was also vastly superior to most of Ezra's acquaintances. And he was infinitely better looking. Best accept the inconvenience with good grace. "Oh dear. You'd best stay for dinner then. I'm afraid it's steak and kidney pudding."

It was a very good steak and kidney pudding. Not that Eden would have ever compared it to London's energy. Despite Eastgate's fanciful ideas, London's energy contained less gravy and infinitely more grit. The pudding was just the thing for lining your stomach in preparation for sitting on a cold stone bench at the back of a church in the middle of a salt marsh though. 

The place really did have too much weather, and it all hated Eden. Every breeze found its way up his hems and down his collar. 

Eastgate handed him a hip flask of brandy while the wind rattled the energy regulating devices Eden had set up around their perimeter. 

Eden had brought some salt as well, and a thin line of white ran between his devices, enclosing them in a semicircle backed by the church. There was a bag of it still at his feet. 

The brandy helped to take the edge of the chill and his nerves. 

"Remind me again why we're doing this now," Eastgate said. “When it’s cold and dark.”

"You said you saw the ghost out here at night, and they are more likely to be detectable at night anyway, when other senses are dulled. Not that they are more active at night, although that’s when you seem most plagued by it, more that human minds are more attuned to seeing them. A bit of moonlight does wonders for the imagination."

"Then why do we need the _contraptions."_

Eden could hear the Reverend's bastard smile. “Not contraptions. Highly sophisticated machines, they are.”

“Yes.” Eastgate lifted his nose out of the snake length scarf he'd wrapped himself in to look pointedly at the gently whirring wings of the closest device. "So, tell me about blood, bone and birdspit then."

"What about it?" Eden tried to snuggle back against the wall of the church. Unfortunately, neither his shoulder blades or the sixteenth century masonry were built for cosiness.

"You implied to Mrs Device it was beneath you."

"No, not beneath. It has its place but it's inexact. Messy. Can do more harm than good. Crafters who can't tap straight into energy use it to get a power boost. It's a connection, a bridge to someone else's energy but you can also use it to…well, do not very nice things to them."

Or combine your very essences to direct forces that shouldn't have been tameable. Dagon and Bea calling the lightning had made the air throb with the energy rolling off them. Eden had been hungry for that power. Could almost taste the tang of it, but to mix his blood, or other fluids, with someone else and all that entailed? No. Unthinkable level of vulnerability. And if two people tried it when they weren't complements, if the balance between you wasn't perfect then, well, the results of that weren't pretty. 

Poor Mr. Fell, who had been irritating but harmless, who Eden had found in his shop, reduced to nothing, energy stripped away. Not even a complete body left. 

Eden tucked his hands tighter beneath his arms and shivered. If he ever found the crafter responsible for that, well. He hoped he never did. Eden hadn't realised how badly he'd missed the old cove, how much he'd relied on him, until he'd been taken away. 

Eastgate's rambling cut through Eden’s grief. "... Realise that they could spit."

"Sorry?"

"Birds. Spitting. Didn't realise that they could."

"They can't…It's a colloquial name for ah…" Eden rolled his eyes. "Another bodily fluid." He waved a hand vaguely over his hips and whistled lewdly.

"Oh." Eastgate’s nose peeked out of the scarf again. “ _Oh!_ ”

"Shocked, reverend?" Eden hoped so. He liked the way Eastgate blushed. 

"Not really. I do know what ejaculate is. And now I know to be more careful over where I leave mine."

Eden snorted, and this time Eastgate's smile glowed. 

"My turn, tell me what happened when Eric came to see you." Eden needed to know, but he didn't care for the way Eastgate's smile melted away. Eden was uncomfortably conscious that there wasn't a lot he wouldn't do to see that smile back again. 

"I don't think..."

"No judgement this time. At least, not out loud." That brought a bit of the smile back, but it was only a facsimile of the real thing. 

"Thank you," Eastgate said dryly. He huffed into the scarf, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets. "The worst of it is he came to me because he thought I'd understand why he wanted to leave home. And he was convinced he was leaving! No matter what I might have said. He'd heard rumours about…" Eastgate's voice broke. "About why I was in London. Why Gabriel brought me home."

"Tell me." Eden's fingers itched to touch, to comfort. He clenched his hands and listened as Eastgate shrunk deeper into himself. 

"Why does any young man run away from home really? I was restless, unsatisfied. Then, well, I received a letter, package, really from someone I cared about very much implying that he was in a great deal of trouble. I left Oxford, half way through my studies and didn't go back."

"And the person you cared about?" Eden did not like the twist of jealously stabbing him right in the guts. 

He tried not to be relieved when Eastgate said, "My uncle. He really was in a great deal of trouble. He was quite dead well before I arrived, you see? Anyway. I stayed in London, went a bit wild."

Eden grinned, trying to imagine a wild Ezra Eastgate. 

"Yes, I know." Eastgate grinned back, quick and pained. "A bit too wild. I got careless. So when Eric came to me I knew what it was like to be in one of those prison cells and the disgust of the police. Only thing worse is the disgust of your family when they come to get you. Gabriel made his disgust very plain, but the boys I was locked up with...the ones without family that didn't want to or couldn't pay to preserve the family honour. The ones… " And the look Eastgate gave him was far too sad, far too knowing." Without any family or connections at all. Well, the idea that Eric might end up there. Alone and without hope. I couldn't even entertain it. I was cruel, but I wasn't heartless."

Eastgate spoke into his scarf, his eyes fixed on the glossy black of his shoes. 

The moon vanished behind a cloud. The shadows were thicker, visceral. The breeze chilled Eden's cheek. 

He sat up straighter. 

The energy regulators clicked just as Eastgate looked up." It's coming."

It was. No more than a faint wisp of pale smoke just beyond the circle’s edge. Eastgate sucked in his breath as it grew stronger, the curls of it forming legs, a torso. Not so much smoke now but a hazy blur of light, the top of its head, where hair would have been on a person, flickering. It ran its hands over its chest and stomach, as though clearing the effort of manifesting itself away, and the movement left trails of light against the darkness, that shone briefly and died.

It looked up, the blob of its head tilted to one side, and extended an arm towards them.

Eastgate drew back. The hand he pressed over his mouth couldn't quite hide his sob. 

"What's it saying?" Eden turned on the bench, reaching out. 

"Nothing but the truth, dear boy," Eastgate murmured, his voice absent of emotion. His eyes flickered silver as the moonlight slid back out from behind the clouds. 

"Don't listen," Eden said. 

"Why ever not?" Eastgate's voice was distant. He stood up and walked slowly to the edge of the circle. 

The ghost opened its arms, their edges curling wisps of white smog that trailed in the air. The energy regulators spun frantically, hissing and clicking. 

Eden scrambled from the bench and threw himself at Eastgate's shoulders. The reverend tried to shake him off. He was strong but Eden was persistent. They struggled back a few steps, then Eastgate surged forward, dragging Eden with him. 

"Just let me go!" 

"Not happening!"

The wind whipped around the circle, the ghost pressing forward against its boundaries, and then through them. One smoky foot lifted and stepped right over the salt. 

That was not supposed to happen. 

Eden's breath left him with a cry. 

The ghost trembled and twisted but held it's form. It brought it's other foot over the salt, and the tremor of it washed through the air. 

Eden gasped as its energy hit him. A rolling wave of absolute loathing, and fear and despair. 

He couldn't breathe. His knees landed on the grass. His fingers dug into the earth. There was no other energy to grasp. The crisp, sweetness of the saltmarsh had been engulfed in that suffocating fog. 

Eden forced his head up. Eastgate had followed the ghost out of the circle and was halfway to the water, taking his time like it was a Sunday stroll. Bigger and more indistinct, the ghost reared over him, a faint outline of what was representing its head curled down to Ezra's ear. 

It had grown, bloating with its noxious emotions. 

Eden struggled to his feet. With both hands he wrestled one of the regulators from the ground and ran after them. 

The grass rolled beneath Eden's feet. Being cut off from the energy around him had unbalanced his senses. Eden dragged off his glasses, but the bold swirls of smoke contorting everything made him even more nauseous. 

"Eastgate!" Eden screamed. "Ezra!" 

The stupid man kept walking. Eden staggered after them, despite the horizon seeming all wonky. Panic clawed at his stomach, his head pounded. 

"Ezra!" Eden managed to jog a few steps forward without pitching on to his face. "No steak and kidney pudding where you're going! No pears!" 

Eastgate didn't stop his focused ramble to the water, but the ghost, or whatever the hell it was, turned, the pits of its eyes glowing like mercury. 

"You won't get to finish your book!" Eden yelled. "And I bet you hate not knowing how things end."

Eastgate hesitated. Then carried on walking towards the water of the saltmarsh. 

The creature whispering in his ear glanced back again. It looked smug, as far as anything with no facial features to speak of could. 

Eden felt cornered and unsure. That always made him say and do the most outrageous things.

Luke had hated that about him. Fuck Luke. 

"You die now!" Eden shouted. "You'll never know what it's like to kiss me."

Eastgate stopped. 

"I know you've been thinking about it. You're not as subtle as you think you are."

Eastgate half turned. He blinked at Eden as though coming out of a dream. "I would never…!" 

"Oh you would!" Eden put on his most satisfied smirk. "I'd make sure you enjoyed it too. _A man like me_ always does."

Eastgate tried to look outraged, but that couldn't quite hide his amusement. 

Relief shot through Eden. He held out his hand. "Come back to me, Ezra."

Eastgate stepped towards him, hesitated. His whole body tensed and slowly he glanced up at the broiling mess of shadows towering over him. He stumbled back, hands flying out protectively in front of him. 

Eden tried to run forward and swing the regulator at the ghost's chest. The ground was still uneven though. His knee joints were full of custard. He made it two strides before collapsing. 

Eastgate paused in his retreat. He started towards Eden. The ghost bore down on him, mouth open in a silent scream. 

Eden cried out, he tried to crawl forwards. Eastgate froze, gazing up and the ghost. The thing was going to swallow Eastgate down. Then the reverend stepped smartly forward, pulled back his left arm and, as the ghost got closer, punched it right on the nose. 

Time hung suspended for a moment. 

The tendrils of white smoke that made up the ghost's manifestation began to uncoil. Eden gulped in some air. 

“Oh Good Lord!” Eastgate stumbled back shaking his hand. 

Eden clambered to his feet, and found the world solid again. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine, dear chap, really.” Eastgate's eyes were wide and bright. He looked like a man who had just returned to his body and still wasn't quite sure what had happened while he'd been absent. 

"Don't be difficult." Eden tried to sound matter of fact, but he was shaking. His legs were still not quite steady. 

Eastgate insisted on being difficult. A brief scuffle ensued until Eden managed to catch hold of Eastgate’s wrist and get off his glove. 

The leather over the knuckles smoked. Eden flicked it to the floor. 

Eastgate sucked air in through his teeth. Eden glanced up, heat prickling the back of his neck. Their eyes met. Eastgate tried to work his hand free, which made Eden reflexively hold on tighter. He spread out the Eastgate's fingers, inspecting the knuckles and pushing the intimacy of the moment right down to his boots. 

Eden tried no to think about the warmth of Eastgate's skin, or the neatness of his nails. Or the way his breath quickened as Eden touched him. Instead, Eden made himself focus on the patches of stark white peppering Eastgate's knuckles, as though they'd been burned. 

“Is that normal?” Eastgate asked, voice slightly high. 

They were very close, and the gust of breath accompanying Eastgate’s words warmed Eden's cheek. 

_You'll never know what it's like to kiss me_.

Eden swallowed. “Of course it’s not normal. You punched a ghost! Punching a ghost is not normal!” 

Eastgate smelled of old paper and vanilla. Eden would never be able to unlearn that. 

“Mad bastard," Eden muttered. _Mad, beautiful bastard._

“I did box for Oxford.” 

“So I’ve been told.” Eden dared look up. He was just slightly taller than Eastgate, just enough to loom. Enough to make Eastgate tilt his chin up to meet his gaze. He could catch the man’s chin and bring their mouths fully together. Bad idea, that. Eden dropped his gaze. 

“Seriously though, it looks harmless.” Eden turned his hand back and forth again, fingers seeking the pulse on the inside of Eastgate's wrist, just to double check. 

“Will it fade?” Eastgate's voice was so quiet, so hopeful.

Eden shook his head. 

“A memento then. To being a mad bastard.” 

Eden let him go, traitorous body still yearning. “Scold. Let’s get back up to the vicarage.” He thrust his hands in his pockets and began walking. 

“Your equipment?” Eastgate called after him. 

“Oh, bugger that.” Eden kicked the regulator he'd discarded on the ground. “Sell it for scrape and I’ll go back to the drawing board.” 

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Not your fault that bloody ghost didn’t know how it was supposed to make technology work.”

Eastgate jogged to his side. “Is it really a ghost?”

And wasn’t that just the thing that had been bothering Eden? It looked enough like a ghost, certainly, but no ghost he'd ever seen had felt or behaved quite like it. “Not like one I've ever seen."

It had too much agency. Not fixed to a certain pattern of behaviour or movement. And it had stepped over the salt with barely a battle. 

"Not a ghost." It was as if all the air was sucked out of Eastgate. Eden barely got a hand around him before he toppled. 

“Then it’s not Eric? Oh thank God.” Eastgate's hands covered his face as he trembled against Eden's side. 

“Steady on.”

“You don’t understand! That means he’s at peace. That…” Eastgate's shoulders shuddered.

“Come on.” Eden pulled Eastgate tighter against him and got them both up to the vicarage. In the drawing room, the warmth from the still glowing fire brought some colour back to the reverend’s cheeks. Eden ordered him into his arm chair and threw on another log. Then he went hunting for brandy. 

It was a special kind of satisfying to have Eastgate sit still and drink the alcohol down as he was told. It didn't last long though. As soon as the glass was empty (which did not take much time at all) Eastgate sprung from his chair. 

“You should rest.” Eden meant it, but it was also adorable to watch the other man suddenly so full of purpose. Even if that purpose was currently deciding they should have cocoa. 

“No. no. I need to keep busy. It’s not Eric!” Eastgate beamed, somewhat wet and watery, but still with joy very much at the heart of it. The room lit up with the brightness of it. That crazy aura of his open and and almost sparkling. 

“You should be worrying about who or what it _is_.” Eden said before the other man was set loose to cause chaos in Mrs Potts' kitchen. 

Eastgate shot him an offended expression. “Probably, but I refuse to do that tonight.” His eagerness faded though and he rubbed distractedly at the back of his hand.

“I’m sure it’s harmless. Let me see in the light.” Eden came forward, taking Eastgate's hand and drawing him towards the fire. 

Eden always had been a glutton for punishment, always ready to push through a boundary. He lifted his glasses on to the top of his head, and Eastgate’s aura was even brighter now. Like a bloody halo. Eden took his hand and turned it over. He couldn’t see anything amiss beyond the white patches of skin. He ran his thumb over the back Eastgate's knuckles. 

Eastgate sucked in his breath. 

“Stings a bit, does it?” Eden asked. It was so much more intimate now they were in the confines of walls. So much more illicit. 

"No,” Eastgate murmured. “Thank you. For tonight." 

Eden lifted his gaze just as Eastgate went up on his toes and brushed his lips over the corner of Eden’s mouth. It sent a shock of pleasure right down to his toes. Always a glutton for punishment, always pushing through boundaries, Eden turned his head, sliding their mouths fully together. 

Eastgate tensed, then his hand was on the back of Eden’s neck and one kiss slid effortlessly into another. It was gentle. Gentle as a moth’s wing. Luke had not kissed like this. It had been all tongue and teeth. Rude and demanding. Eden had known where he stood with that kind of treatment. This was a question, asked politely and quietly, whispered in the shadows. 

It sparked something deep inside Eden. Something he thought quenched long ago. 

Eastgate drew back. Not so much that Eden still couldn’t feel the warmth of him, or had to release the grip on his hands. Eastgate’s gaze darted over his face. He looked almost as stunned as Eden felt. 

Eden leaned in again. Chasing the taste of the kiss like it was opium. Their lips dragged together, Eden's tongue gently suggesting what more could be done. 

Eastgate took the hint, the kiss deepened, hot and needy as they released each other’s hands only to paw at coat buttons and collars.

It was a relief. As thrilling as the softness had been, Eden had no idea what to do with it. 

A sharp whine escaped Eastgate’s throat, he stepped back dragging Eden with him. Eastgate's back hit the wall by the fireplace and Eden pressed closer, near laughing as the lingering fear that had filled his veins morphed into something much more pleasant. The stuffy cleric could kiss. He kissed like it was the only thing keeping him alive, and each wiggle of his body, each of those breathy gasps made Eden crave more. He could kiss Eastgate forever, submerge himself in the other man's depths and never reach the bottom. 

The thought was gone as the log in the fire collapsed, hissing sparks. 

Eastgate tensed again and pushed Eden away. Eastgate, looked up at him. His lips were kiss bitten and his eyes were open wide in fear. 

Typical. Fun had been had, and now came the panic. Eden would not apologise, but he did want to fix it. Might be easier just to make Eastgate forget the whole thing. There were several ways, some more unethical than others…

“I’m sorry, that shouldn’t have happened.” Eastgate said quietly, his eyes holding Eden’s. There was a puzzled frown on his face, a steady determination in his gaze winning the battle with the fear that had been there moments before. “It didn't happen. You see, you find me terribly dull. Not your type at all really. So we're going to bed. _Separate_ beds. And this never happened.” His words were tinged with desperation. 

Eden blinked. “What never happened?” What was the infernal chatterbox on about now? He stepped back, absently adjusting his cuffs. 

“Nothing,” Eastgate turned away quickly. “Nothing happened. That's the point."

Eden didn’t understand what he was on about. All he understood was that he wanted the other man to stop talking so he could process what he’d seen of the ghost that wasn’t actually a ghost. And he wasn’t wearing his glasses. That was important but his brain couldn’t quite get a grip on why. He took them off his head and dropped them back onto his nose. 

“Right then.” Eastgate tugged down his waistcoat. “Shall we go up? Separately?”

“Your hand will be fine.” Eden fell into step behind him. “Stop fussing.” 

That had been what they were talking about before...before something? Didn't matter. Eastgate was a prissy little fusspot. Thank whoever cared that he took himself off to bed sharpish. 

Eden went to the spare room where his belongings had been left and got ready for bed. He settled between the covers, no longer cold but feeling distinctly restless. Unsatisfied. Unable to sleep he lit a candle and dug the pincushion Eastgate had given him yesterday out of his bag. 

With a pair of nail scissors and some tweezers he began to dissect it. A dream pillow of some kind, stuffed with wool and lavender. Fairly basic work. He spread the innards out on the tabletop to check there was nothing more nefarious hidden in the stuffing. 

It was irritating that whatever it was that was plaguing Eastgate had just added to the mystery. Definitely not a ghost though. Eden would get Pulsifer to send a telegram to Bea tomorrow. There was something murky afoot here. And Eastgate had tried to hit the thing. Just stepped up, calm as you please, and taken a swing at it. 

Eden blinked.

Very slowly, so as not to jog that thought out of place, Eden put down scissors and tweezers, and sat back in his chair. 

The boring, annoying little cleric had tried to box with a ghost. 

That was hardly boring, or annoying. 

Eden stared at the wall, trying hard not to concentrate on too much, lest the revelation happening took flight and vanished. 

Yes. There.

There were currently two incompatible truths fighting for supremacy in Eden's head. One was that Ezra Eastgate was a man with a pretty, witty mouth who’d made such a flippant, filthy remark about birspsit that it had taken all Eden’s will not to laugh. The other was of a man, drab and boring, barely there at all, who was not the sort of person Eden would even think about kissing in a vicarage drawing room. Or anywhere, come to that. 

Ah. Kissing. That was it. That was the place in Eden’s brain where everything got twisted. The shape of the memory was there, just hidden beneath the hazy belief that kissing Eastgate was not something he’d ever do. Once Eden had located the lie and paid enough attention to it, it faded like smoke in sunlight. 

Well. He’d been influenced. Eastgate had dipped into his mind and influenced his thoughts. What the actual Hell sort of vicar was he? Eden laughed. A lying, cowardly little shit of a vicar, certainly, but a dull one? Never. 

Eden was going to enjoy making him pay for this. Slowly. 

  
  


Ezra sat on the edge of his bed, fingers knotted together. He hadn’t meant to do it. He never _meant_ to do it, and yet sometimes when he was particularly anxious, or felt particularly cornered it would happen. The weight of the power would rise up and his thoughts and words would just act. 

He’d done a bad thing.

Another one.

Although was this one truly that bad if it was for the best? What could possibly be gained by either himself, or Eden, from starting some kind of...sordid liaison? 

Something so expressly forbidden by God and country? Hadn't he sinned enough already? And hurt others as a result? 

The shadows in the corner of the room lengthened, curling slowly out across the floor. Ezra shifted back onto the bed and out of their reach, but they still crawled up the walls and over the ceiling. 

He didn't turn round. Ezra sensed the being taking shape on the bed behind him. Pale and halformed. The cold of its indistinct fingers tickled his aura, it's words seeped into his head. 

In a moment of weakness - another one - Ezra opened his bedside drawer and pulled out the Box. 

It was an unremarkable wooden box, but he’d come to think of it with a capital letter in his head. He set it on his lap and lifted the lid. The shadows swept in closer as Ezra took out the letter. He didn’t read it. Hardly ever did. The words had long since burned into him. 

_My very dear boy,_

_I have neglected you dreadfully, please understand it was for your own protection. I have not been so kind to myself. Come to me at once. Trust no one. Except, perhaps.. . I will send you his name and direction separately, if I feel time is running out._

_Your Uncle E._

There was no comfort there after all. Only more self hate. He'd been too late. Spent too long dithering between his family duty and his Affection for his uncle. Ezra set the letter to one side. The next set of papers were the deeds to property in London, Soho. He put those with the letter. 

Underneath was a man’s handkerchief, monogrammed in duck egg blue. The moniker was three letters. A.Z.F. Inside the handkerchief was a ring, the gold heavy and shiny with age. A pair of angel wings were engraved on the front. Ezra looked down at it, his blood thumping furiously. 

The temptation to put it on was almost as great as the fear. If he put it on they would know it was him. Whoever had killed his uncle would _know_ he had inherited. 

What would Gabriel say? Michael was indulged with her family history research, but this? Ezra had seen how his family were at dinner with Eden. They'd disown him for certain if they found out he had even a smidgen of magic in him. 

And Ezra was made all wrong for this kind of thing, in so many ways. He was weak and soft, and silly. He couldn’t resist the thoughts twisting and clawing at his mind. He couldn't resist the tempting power the ring offered. 

But he also didn't want to be alone. 

He missed his uncle dreadfully. 

The shadows around him squirmed and pulsed. The creature behind him reached out hungrily. 

_Just do it. Do it. All this will go away._

The sob stuck in the back of Ezra’s throat. He thought he’d been making progress, that was the worst of it. Thought he had stopped thinking he deserved anything more than what he had. What he had should be enough. He stuffed the papers and the ring back into the box and slammed the lid shut. 

The shadows writhed angrily. Ezra slid under the covers, pulling them tight over his head, but the voices chased him. 

_Why aren’t you better?_


	4. CHAPTER IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the not-ghost reappears and things are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra CW towards the end of this chapter for references to past abusive relationships/domestic violence, and discussions of homophobia. It gets quite dark with another suicide attempt, but there’s a fluffy ending. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading and supporting this fic!

Eden had been putting the visit off. It was with a drag to his heels and worry pressing down on his heart that he went to see Eric's Dear Mama. None of his agitation had been improved by having to hang around the vicarage waiting for the causeway to clear while Eastgate puttered about trying to shrink into the scenery. Now that Eden knew that Eastgate was using influence it wasn’t going to work. Eden made sure to address the cleric whenever he saw him. 

Eastgate must be doing it to his family too. At dinner they had barely noticed him unless to offer criticism. 

Eastgate’s aura was more of a briar patch than normal and it made Eden’s head hurt. Still, solving (and revenging himself) on the puzzle of Ezra Eastgate would be something to look forward to after duty was done. As soon as the causeway was clear and Mrs Potts arrived on Shadwell’s trap, Eden made his escape, persuading Shadwell to give him a ride back into the town. 

Now Eden stood before a narrow terraced house in a narrow street. He knocked on the freshly painted door with it’s well scrubbed step, and formed his offensively looming body into a semblance of abject grief, hat brim gasped in his hands and head bowed. 

The door was jerked open by a straight backed, handsome woman in an apron. The sleeves of her dress were rolled back showing the impressively muscled forearms of a washer woman. 

"Madam, forgive the intrusion…" Eden started. 

"I know who you are, Mr. Eden,” Eric’s mama snapped. 

Of course she did. It was a small town in the arse end of nowhere interesting and Eden was a stranger. "Just Eden," he said.

"Just nothing!" Eric’s Dear Mama half bent down, straightening up with a pail of water held in both hands. She threw it at him with a practised skill. 

Eden leapt back with a shout. The water was greasy and dark with muck. Must have been used to scrub her doorstep and saved especially for him. 

"I don't want your lot having anymore to do with him. You have questions talk to that damn witch at _The Hound_." Eric’s Dear Mama yelled. She slammed the door. 

Eden replaced his hat and gathered his dignity. Then he stalked off to find that damn witch. He'd wanted to see her anyway. 

  
  


Mrs Device was behind _The Hound’s_ bar and looked less than pleased when Eden came in. She braced her hands on the bartop and glared. Eden smiled as he sauntered up to her. 

“Pleasure to see you,” Eden smiled. 

“For you!” Mrs Device slapped a letter down between them. 

It was a normal sized envelope of cheap paper, but it had the Authority’s official stamp on it. Eden opened it with a proper degree of caution. The sheet of paper inside was of equally bad quality and one side had about a paragraph scrawled in Bea’s crabby writing. She informed him, as sympathetically as she knew how, that Luke was no longer employed by the Authority. He’d been allowed to retire following pressure from his family due to his marriage, which had happened. It had happened on the date that Eden had left London. 

That afternoon in fact. Eden did not feel better that none of Luke’s former colleagues had been invited. 

Luke had waited until Eden had boarded the train. Bloody coward. What did he think Eden was going to do? Stand up in church and object? 

"Bad news?" Mrs Device asked. 

"No.” Eden unclenched his fists, releasing the crumpled paper which he shoved straight in his pocket. “Eric's dear mama told me to come and talk to you." Misdirection, hadn't that been what Fell always told him? 

"I'd take anything that woman says with a pinch of salt." Mrs Device sniffed. 

"You don't know why her son died then?" Eden persisted. 

Mrs Device shook her head. "He was happy, I mean happy that he was going to leave Tadfield, anyway."

"Oh? Where was he planning to go?" Eden settled both elbows on the bar, fully prepared to make a nuisance of himself. 

"London. To you actually.” Mrs Device produced a cloth from somewhere and began to rub at the already shining wood of the bar. “Eric had some talent and I'd taught him all I could. He'd handed in his notice with the Goodspeeds, said they'd given him a letter of recommendation. He was a lovely boy, Eden. He wouldn't be doing this to Reverend Eastgate."

"He's not.” Eden leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I've seen the thing tormenting Eastgate."

Mrs Device lifted her eyebrows. Eden fished the remains of the dream pillow out of his pocket and pushed it across the bar. "Who made this?" 

"Not me." She turned it thoughtfully over in her hands. "Eastgate's energy is all over it."

"It's been under his pillow, and the fool was carrying it around with him."

Mrs Device rolled her eyes. "Well, if you can't read another signature on it how do you think I'll be able to?" This was said with the quirk of an eyebrow that was all challenge.

Eden sneered. "I had hoped you'd be able to advise me on more mundane matters. Can you tell me anything about the way it's put together. The ingredients used."

"It's a dream pillow! The children apprenticed to me can make them in, well, their sleep. Although rarely with material so fine.” Mrs Device held up a fragment of cream silk. “Are you going to buy anything?" 

"Sure, what have you got that doesn't take like horse piss." Eden began to collect the fragments of the dream pillow back together. 

"Carry on like that and I'll be actually serving you horse piss." 

"Mrs Device's own home brew is very good."

Eden jumped. 

Eastgate had bloody gone and done it again. He stood at the bar, a couple of feet away, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the wood. Eden narrowed his eyes. Was the man part mouse? Or was he operating purely on an instinct for self-preservation. 

Eastgate glanced up at Eden, his fingers curling protectively into fists. "Although a man of your metropolitan tastes would probably be more at home with the India Pale Ale."

“Whatever you recommend, I’m sure,” Eden ground out through clenched teeth. 

Eastgate's smile was a quick flash of nervous energy. It relaxed somewhat when he turned his attention back to Mrs Device." What's for lunch, my dear?"

Mrs Device watched them both carefully. "I've a nice joint of roast gosling and vegetables."

"Sounds delightful."

"I'll bring it over to both of you."

"I'm not…" Eden began. Then gave in gracefully to Mrs Device's pointed glare. "Looks like I'll be joining you, reverend." Why not, after all? It had been a trying morning and he was due some light relief. 

Eastgate did not look pleased with this. Eden pretended not to care that it hurt being enemies again. He followed Eastgate to a table tucked beneath the window. Eastgate took the settle against the wall and didn't object when Eden pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him. He did sigh quietly though and ask, "How can I help you today, _Mr._ Eden?" 

"I'd like to talk about Eric some more."

Eastgate's mouth twisted with displeasure. "Of course," he managed politely while looking more than ready to be sick. 

"Tell me how you found him."

"You know how he was found."

"But not from you. Not your side of it."

Eastgate's fingers knotted together. On a whim Eden tipped his glasses down so he could meet Eastgate's worried eyes. "Talk to me," he said softly. "You can trust me."

Eastgate's frown deepened for a moment, but he didn't resist the subtle nudge of the influence. Surely a crafter with any hint of awareness would see what was happening?

Eden did not think about how easily _he'd_ been influenced last night. He blamed the lust, that was all. Thinking about last night made his stomach quiver uncomfortably so he pressed on. "So, what happened?" 

"I found him first thing in the morning,” Eastgate muttered to the table top. “Just at sunrise. The light sparkled on the water and caught on the brass buttons of his livery. He was an under footman at Angel’s Rest. He was caught in the reeds, face up. I think I only saw him because I was lying down myself. If I'd been standing my perspective would have been wrong, I think." Eastgate’s voice trailed off.

"You were lying down?" 

"At the base of the church tower.” Eastgate squirmed in his seat. “I… Can't remember how I got there. Just, waking up the night before. Seeing a light down at the church. I must have gone to investigate but…" Eastgate waved his fingers, "... Poof. Nothing there. Could it have been that pincushion thing?" 

"No. That's a dream pillow." Eden leaned forward, one hand rubbing his chin. "The whole purpose of that would have been to keep you sleeping."

Something else must have woken Eastgate up. A magic stronger and more compelling than the pillow which, although the most rudimentary of charms, should have worked if left uninterrupted. 

What had Eric been up to? What had he been conjuring in the church yard? And had that ended him, or had there been someone with him to help him along? 

A steaming plate of meat and vegetables was placed beneath Eden's nose. He sat back, stomach churning. 

"Splendid!" Eastgate rubbed his hands together, whatever place Eden had sent him to slipping away. He spread out his napkin and tucked in. 

Eden watched Eastgate methodically start to deconstruct the gosling and slice the vegetables until he was satisfied he'd collected just the right balance of textures and flavours on his fork. He put the perfect bite in his mouth and sat back, sighing happily. 

Eden wished he could find that much pleasure in things. A more traitorous part of his soul wished he could give Eastgate that much pleasure. He shouldn't be wrapped up in dull clerical black, but something light and joyful. A touch more flamboyance would suit him. 

"You aren't eating?" Eastgate asked with concern. 

"I'm thinking."

"Surely it's possible to do both, even for you?" Eastgate tried to look innocent, but a smile tugged at his lips.

"I'm moving into the vicarage,” Eden decided. Glutton for punishment, wasn’t he?

Eastgate’s jaw fell and his knife scraped across the china. "Oh, I hardly think that's necessary."

"I disagree. And as you keep saying, I am the expert." Eden sat back and folded his arms. 

"Oh dear." Eastgate put down his cutlery. 

Eden almost hated himself for robbing him of even that joy. Fortunately Eden could just tack that to the bottom of the list of all the other reasons he hated himself. 

"Mrs Potts has other commitments. She can't stay with you all the time. I can. You need help against that thing, whatever it is. If I hadn't been there last night…" Eden bit his lip. He didn't want to think about how close Eastgate had come to trying to drown himself again, or how impotent Eden had felt against a power so far outside his practical experience. 

He didn't want to think about that knee weakening kiss either, or how quick Eastgate had been to push him away afterwards.

 _And what exactly are you going to do?_ A voice that sounded remarkably like Luke's teased him. _Sleep across his door like a love sick puppy? That technique didn't work so well with me, did it?_

"My dear fellow," Eastgate pushed his plate away so he could give Eden his full attention. 'You must know that you can't stay at the vicarage. People will talk!"

Eden feigned ignorance. " Oh? And what will they say?"

"With my past, ah, indiscretions and you being so very… well, _you_ , and doing the job you do." Eastgate’s gaze flicked nervously past Eden and towards the bar.

"Surely a fine upstanding moral pillar of the community such as yourself would be above such rumours and slanders?" Eden made no effort to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Eastgate lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "But after last night…" He bit his lip, cheeks going pink. 

"And what happened last night?" Eden asked for the pleasure of watching the cleric squirm. 

Eastgate looked like he was trying to chew something particularly unpleasant. "Nothing." He seized his cutlery and began hacking at his gosling. "Nothing. I don't know why you brought it up."

Eden cackled. "Then we've nothing to worry about, have we. Besides…" Eden dropped his voice to a purr. "I am now perfectly sure I can resist _your_ charms."

Eastgate nearly dropped his fork. He shot Eden a look of such fear, anger and sorrow that Eden almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He pushed his chair away from the table. "Excuse me, I'll go and pack."

He stalked off, trying to count the exchange as a victory and ignoring the bitterness in his empty stomach. It was for the best, Eden had been someone's dirty secret before. He didn't care to repeat the experience. And he'd get back to London as soon as he could anyway. That part of his plan hadn't changed. 

Still, moving the rest of his belongings officially into the vicarage was excruciating. Eastgate had decided that rather than being sulky and ungrateful, being jovial and hospitable was the much better defense. It was almost amusing to watch the cracks the strain of pretending everything was tickety boo put on him. 

One well aimed nudge and the man would shatter. Eden nudged, testing the veneer of Eastgate’s hypocrisy every time he opened his mouth. 

During dinner Mrs Potts kept shooting them both furtive, worried little glances. Eastgate sipped regularly at his wine and giggled rather too much. 

It was only a matter of time before bullshit was called. Eden just hadn’t expected to be the one facing the brunt of it.

"You're supposed to be making him better!" Mrs Potts cornered Eden in the hallway after dinner. "Sir," she muttered as an afterthought. 

"I'm trying. The stubborn sod won't cooperate." Eden did not care for the way her matronly indignation brought a pout to his lips. 

"You can't force him to do things.” Mrs Potts’ ire ebbed slightly. “He's always been nervous, but after his Uncle Ezra died…I'm not one to gossip, of course."

"Of course."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

"Tell me about the uncle who died in London,” Eden said gently. The more he knew, the more he could help, after all. 

"He wasn’t Gabriel's father, but his younger brother, Ezra."

"Another one!" 

"You know the toffs. Tradition takes the place of imagination." Mrs Potts tutted. 

They shared the smile of people who knew society judged them lacking, but were confident in their own worth. 

"Uncle Ezra was one of the few people who made time for young Ezra. His family have always seen him as odd. Well, they were both considered odd, but Uncle Ezra had his life in London and didn't care. Whenever he came back to Angel's Rest he'd teach young Ezra magic." Mrs Potts’ voice was hushed. She kept one eye on the dining room where Eastagte still was. 

"Magic?" Oh, that was interesting. 

"Oh, not your type. Sleight of hand and hankie waving." 

Oh, another one of those amateur illusionists. 

_It’s not the ring that’s magic, young Anthony_ . _It’s you_. Eden had never been sure exactly what role Fell played in the Authority. He seemed more consultant than anything else, occasionally popping into the office, but mostly collecting the new recruits up in his bookshop and trying to teach them things they, with all their worldliness of the streets, were convinced they didn't need to learn. It was only now that Eden was starting to realise what a safe space that bookshop had been, and how Fell had got Eden to reveal more about himself over a cup of tea and a chat than any of the Authority's invasive training. 

"As I understand it, Uncle Ezra got into trouble,” Mrs Potts continued, leaning in slightly so Eden caught a hint of carbolic soap and lavender. “Young Ezra left his schooling and went to find him. He found his uncle dead and didn't go back to Oxford. Gabriel wrote him off as the ungrateful liability he was until there was news of that raid on a gentleman's club. Portland Place, I think"

“Ah.” Eden remembered the headlines, only because it had sent Luke on one of his fear manifesting as rage spirals. Eden had got to the bottom of what it was all about, sitting at home with a newspaper spread out over his lap and a cloth full of ice pressed over the fresh bruise on his temple. 

"What _Sir_ Gabriel wouldn't do for basic human affection he'd do to prevent a scandal. And the Goodspeeds aren't so rich and well connected that they could survive a member of a cadet branch falling foul of the law. Young Ezra has been under Gabriel's heel ever since." Mrs Pott’s tone of voice and sour expression let Eden know exactly how she felt about that. 

"You care for him a very great deal.” Eden wondered what that felt like, to have someone care for him a very great deal. Guilt swept in hard on the heels of that thought because Fell had. Eden had just not been willing to appreciate it. 

"He's a willfully blinkered, contrary sod. But he's the best of the lot of them. He just needs to be shown some kindness." Mrs Potts nodded. This was clearly the final word on the matter.

"Don't we all,” Eden admitted.

"Perhaps you could start by showing it to each other?" She paused again before adding, “sir.”

Eden got the message. Thoroughly chastised he decided to try kindness, even though it wasn't in his nature. Eastgate didn't make it easy and Eden was quite distressed when Mrs Potts had to get home before the causeway closed leaving the two of them trapped together on the island. 

They ended up slumped in their armchairs either side of the fireplace and pretended not to glare at each other. 

When Eastgate offered him a brandy Eden didn't say no. He didn't say no to the second one either. On the third one, Eastgate glanced up from the book he'd been making a show of reading and said, "I really should, I suppose, be grateful you agreed to stay here."

Eden, who had been brooding while he tried to out stare the fire said, "The formidable Mrs Potts take you to task as well, did she?" 

Eastgate looked away as he drained his glass. His cheeks, already pink from the alcohol, darkened further. "Something like that. Another?" 

Eden finished his own drink and held the glass out. Eastgate was heavy handed with the pouring. Eden didn't complain. 

"I do apologise," Eastgate said as he settled back in his chair nursing his own glass, "if I have offended you. It's just not easy for me to, well, be as I am, I suppose."

"You think it's easy for me?" Eden snorted. Typical bloody rich boy. And there was more hurt in Eden’s voice than he'd intended. It was one thing for Luke to say he was getting married and quite another to have the specifics in writing. He’d nearly thrown that letter away half a dozen times today, but had held on to it. It was proof that it was real. That it was truly over, and Eden needed that right now. 

"No." Eastgate's attention went back to his glass. "Of course it isn't. Are you alright? You seem angry. More so than normal, I mean."

Eden was too soaked in alcohol to lie. And too tired. There was comfort in this room. A familiar safety that he could be heard without judgement. Probably the vicaring. Eastgate was, no doubt, well practised at being easy to talk to. "My…" and what was Luke to him? There were no words that made sense. "The man I thought I was in love with is getting married."

"Oh! I'm so sorry. Did he break it off with you?" 

"I broke it off with him!” Eden insisted. “He wanted to keep seeing me even though he'd be married. We had a fight. Several fights. Our work got careless as a result." 

Bea had called Eden to her office and just stared at his latest cut, the latest bruising over his eye, without saying a word, until he'd stormed out in a huff. 

Eden bit his thumb nail distractedly. "Had to explain it at a review board. All of it. The whole _nature of our relationship_. I mean they were suitably horrified, but didn't care really. There's not enough of us with talent that the Authority can afford to turn us over to hard labour or the noose. My ex-partner's older brother is a peer though, so of course it was all my fault. Forcing my affections, and all that. That's why I'm exiled out here without a partner and chasing spectres." Eden grinned as he looked up. He was thoroughly unprepared to be met with so much outrage.

“And what did this _partner_ of yours say?” Eastgate nearly hissed.

“ _Thank you very much, your grace. It was all Eden’s fault. I promise not to fall foul of his wiles again_.” Eden made himself grin harder. This was nothing. Just another chapter in the joke of his life. 

“Why did you like him?” Eastgate frowned. “He sounds like an absolute arse, dear boy.”

“But a rich and handsome arse,” Eden laughed and downed his drink. 

Eastgate replied quietly, but firmly, “You deserved better.”

Eden laughed, half choking on brandy. He couldn’t bear to acknowledge what he thought he deserved. “He could be better. When we were alone he was kind to me. Most of the time. He had nice hands, soft. Almost as soft as yours." As soon as the words left Eden’s mouth he knew how drunk he was. The tipsiness had toppled into something infinitely more dangerous. He swallowed hard.

Eastgate's hands tightened on his glass. As soft as Luke's certainly, but no doubt stronger, and more gentle with it too. Unless instructed otherwise, no doubt. Eden shivered and wished he had more to drink. Purely for something to do because words were collecting in his mouth, begging for release. He held Eastgate’s gaze. "And I liked his cock, obviously, the weight of it in my hand, on my tongue. It'd stretch my mouth just right.” 

And why not admit it? They were no longer in the shallows of this conversation, and Eastgate wanted to hear it. Every atom of his body was pulled taut with attention. 

"Anything else you want to know?" Eden made himself ask lazily, just a hint of flirtation in it. This was just a show, after all. No meaning to it but wanting to tease Eastgate out of his shell. And Eden wanted to provoke. The alcohol had made him stupid, made him want to feel something. Anything that wasn’t this awful, awful loss. 

Eastgate sat very still. He sipped his drink carefully. “And did he ever…? For you?”

“That wasn't quite how it worked,” Eden said. “It's one thing to be the one sucked off. It's just a mouth, isn't it? But to be the one on the active end…” Eden mock shuddered. “Little bit deviant, don't you think? 

Eastgate blinked. Then he snorted, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. “I suppose if you wanted to justify it badly enough that would be one way to think about it.” 

Eastgate was beautiful when he laughed. The realisation hit Eden straight in the guts. There was an innocent to it that made him glow. Eden wanted to bottle it, or at least string the moment out as long as he could. The words kept coming, spilling from him without bothering to check in with his brain first. 

"And I sucked him off _mostly_ , but when he did get on his knees for me…" Eden was aware he'd said too much, but he was drunk on good brandy and the nostalgia of something he couldn't quite grasp. It wasn't often Eden found someone who wanted to listen to him, and it was intoxicating. God, but he missed Fell. "It was good. It felt good." 

"Tell me." Eastgate spoke softly. The laughter had left its mark around his eyes and mouth, but there was a keenness to his expression now. 

Eden didn't blush, it was the brandy warming his cheeks nothing else. 

Eastgate's glass clicked as he placed it on the last remaining clear inches of his side table. "Only if you'd like," he added. 

Eden licked his lips. All of Eastgate's attention was on him, Eden swore he could feel the thickness of it. He liked it. Luke had looked at him like that sometimes, like he was beautiful and precious and wanted. The air was heavy and the fire was too hot. 

"He'd sit me down,” Eden said. _Push more like, but still, but it got the job done_. "On a bed, or a chair, his desk once."

Eden squirmed at the memory of that. One eye on the door, one on Luke's thick golden hair between his thighs. Eden's cock twitched. "He'd spread my knees, kneel between them…" 

Eastgate un crossed his legs and got up. Eden watched him as he came forward, hesitant at first, then more confident as Eden didn't move. Eden couldn’t move. His limbs were weighted, his tongue thick. His cock was already pressing against the front of his trousers. 

"Slowly." Eden shifted his knees further apart. No point in hiding now. And Luke had not been slow. He'd been quick and rough, as though the only thing greater than slaking his desire was the relief of having it over and done with. 

As Eastgate sunk to his knees, ran his palms over Eden’s thighs, he knew this was not going to be quick. This was going to be a savouring. Eden was about to be savoured, and that thought alone made his toes curl.

"Like this?" Eastgate looked up, eyes darker in the shadows caused by the firelight. 

Eden nodded. "He'd undo my buttons, carefully."

 _Ripped them, more than one lost forever._ Didn't matter. This wasn't about Luke, this was Eden's fantasy of what he had wanted Luke to be like, what he'd hoped Luke could be, one day. 

Eastgate's hands slid up the inside of Eden’s legs, pushing them wider as he shuffled closer. His gaze never wavered as his fingers plucked at Eden's buttons. "Then what would he do?" Eastgate sounded only mildly curious, intent on his work as he was. 

Eden wet his lips. His mouth was so dry. "He’d stoke me, he would hsss, yes like that." His hips rolled upward into Eastgate’s touch, firm and gentle. "Kiss the tip, suck on it." 

_Swallow him right down to the root, hard, fast and dirty. Fuck Luke, fuck him_. He wasn't here. This was Eastgate. Ezra. A bit clumsy, a bit inexperienced, but the sloppy eagerness of it was its own kind of satisfying. Eden closed his eyes, head falling back against the chair and hips lifting against the drag of that hot tongue. 

"Like this?" Eastgate murmured, his breath warming the crease at the top of Eden’s leg. 

"God, yes. Take me all the way down.” 

Eastgate did. Eden’s fingers dug into the arms of the chair as his spine arched.

Eastgate’s soft, pampered hands were gripping the tops of Eden's thighs, dragging him further to the edge of his seat so he had better access to take more of Eden’s cock into his mouth. 

Eden bit at his lip, a hand twitching reflexively down to brush Eastgate’s hair. They were discovering a rhythm now. The push and pull of it. The giving and receiving. Eastgate shifted, mouth pulling back slightly. Eden lifted his head, saw Eastgate’s thighs shift and his arse wiggle as he made room to undo his own trousers. 

“You planning to touch yourself while you suck me off?” Eden asked. _Yes, do that_ . _Show me you need this like I do._

Eastgate’s answer was a moan. Possibly from Eden’s words, possibly because he’d finally managed to take himself in hand. He glanced up from his knees, hair plastered to his forehead, mouth still stretched around Eden’s cock. He held the eye contact, as long as possible while he slowly sunk his head back down. 

Eden gulped air into his lungs and dug a hand into Eastgate’s hair. Nothing too rough, but enough to make himself feel like he was in control. Like he wasn’t the one slowly being taken apart, as though he hadn’t exposed himself already. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how in about half a minute this was going to all seem like a really bad idea. Don’t think about how Eastgate was probably doing this out of pity, or curiosity, or his own fucked up childhood, and that Eden was allowing it to convince himself that he was over Luke. 

Eden rolled his hips faster, thrusting them up, begging for more. Eastgate’s mouth was tight around him, tongue a hot, wet pressure dragging against his sensitive skin. Pleasure spiked in the base of Eden’s spine. He hissed a warning. 

Eastgate pulled back, Eden’s slick cock popping free of his mouth. Eden pumped his own fist for a few moments, chasing the start of his orgasm until he came, bent forward in the chair, clawing at his own knee. 

He glanced up, just in time to catch Eastgate gasp. He came biting his free hand, his gaze flicking over the mess that Eden had made of himself as though he wanted to drink the image down. 

Their eyes met. The part of Eastgate’s face that was visible had that wide, hunted look on it again. This was not going to end well. Of course it wasn’t.

Eden slid awkwardly off the chair and on to the floor. He put his clean palm over Ezra’s lips before he could speak. “No. You do not get to try and make me forget this.”

Eastgate squeaked. He shook his head. 

“No, Ezra, and I know what you can do so it won't work this time anyway. I'm going to move my hand now. Don't try it.”

Eastgate nodded. Eden moved his hand. 

Eastgate took in a shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have. I'm sorry.” He scrambled to his feet and rushed from the room. 

  
  
  


"Shitshitshit." Eden found a towel in the kitchen to wipe the mess away with. He buttoned himself back up, hands trembling. 

All the good will he'd coaxed out of Eastgate this afternoon had just been destroyed because Eden was pathetic and needy for affection. 

Luke had hated that about him. 

_I give you what I can, don't I? You can't keep expecting more._

Alone, in a cold kitchen, Eden hated that about himself too. He couldn't walk away though. Even if the causeway were clear, he needed Eastgate's help and… 

_Shitshitshit_. He wanted to put that smile back on Eastgate's face. Eden returned to the living room and found it still empty. He hesitated for a moment at the bottom of the stairs then began to climb. 

He felt it about half way up. A subtle change as the darkness grew deeper, the shadows stickier. Eden quickened his pace, turning sharply at the top of the stairs and heading for Eastgate's bedroom. 

He knocked on the door. 

"Leave me alone!" 

Eden tried the door. Locked. “Let me in!”

**Go away**

Eastgate's voice was still in there, but layered over with something poisonous. 

Eden took a step back, bracing one hand on the wall, and kicking his leg at the door. The impact sent pain lancing right through his knee. He hopped back cursing. 

"Ezra!" 

No response. Which was worse than hints of possession or whatever the Hell was happening. There was no energy in the corridor now that wasn't hate. 

Except him. 

Eden put his hand in his mouth and bit hard at the soft webbing between his thumb and forefinger. He tore at the flesh until the first burst of salt heat touched his tongue. He squeezed more blood to the surface then smeared it over the metal lock.

 _It’s not the ring that’s magic, young Anthony_ . _It’s you_

Eden let his awareness sink into himself, deep down where the hate of Eastgate's not-ghost couldn't reach him. Right down to the place in his belly where the fire lived, the burning rage that had been awoken when flames had torn through the London slums. 

Eden drew it up through his blood. Relished the cathartic burn of it. 

The metal beneath his fingers was cold now. It remembered fire though. It remembered the oozing, bright red heat of its origin. 

It began to bubble beneath Eden’s fingers. As soon as it began to drip, Eden slammed the door open. He swayed, gripping the frame to stop himself from falling. He was sweating, vision blurred with dehydration. 

Eastgate crouched on his knees in the centre of his bedroom floor, head bowed and hands clasped so tight his knuckles were white around the empty water glass he held. The creature stood behind him, shimmering dirty white in the darkness. It’s indistinct head lifted and the loathing stole Eden’s breath. The world began to tilt again. 

Eastgate's head had lifted too, like a puppet mimicking the thing behind him. His eyes were silver and the faint smile contorting his face shone with malice.

**Go away**

Words died in Eden’s throat. He couldn’t walk. 

Eastgate smashed the glass on the floor. 

**Really, this is best for everyone.**

Eastgate picked up a shard of glass delicately. Almost curiously. 

The easiest thing for Eden to do was to just throw himself straight at Eastgate. They toppled over backwards, Eastgate’s skull cracking against the floorboards. Eden gripped his face, blood smearing his cheek. “Not on my watch, reverend, I’m not nearly done making a nuisance of myself yet. It’s far too enjoyable.”

“Leave me alone.” Eastgate squirmed. His hands grabbed Eden’s trying to tear them away. “I’m not worth it. Let me just do what it wants!”

The blood could make a bridge. Eden could use it to steal Eastgate's energy. Could it work the other way though? Give him whatever he needed to break the creature's hold on him? Eden seized Eastgate's chin and shoved his bloody thumb past Eastgate's lips. 

"I know you can use this!" Eden growled. 

Eastgate spluttered and tried to turn his head away. Eden struggled to hold him, straddling Eastgate's hips and using his weight to hold him down. Eastgate went very, very still. The silver in his eyes faded back to blue-green. Almost the colour of the saltmarsh. He sucked on Eden’s thumb. 

Pain coursed through Eden’s bones at the jerk of magic being hooked from him. His whole body was a twisted nerve of pain pulled towards Eastgate. Air roared in his ears. The thrashing flames of his own energy contorted, blazing out of his control, and then broke on an energy coming the other way, flowing back towards him. It was equally angry, a cold tidal wave that crashed against Eden’s mind. 

The two forces pushed against each other, neither giving ground. They held, balanced as they held each other still. Eden floated on the edge of it, body and brain aching. Eastgate, still with Eden's hand in his mouth, gazed back at him, pupils blown wide and his nails digging into Eden's shoulders. 

They hung suspended, hearts thudding too loud and too fast. The rest of the world had faded to a blur. 

Eastgate frowned, head tilting slightly to the side. The energy shifted. No longer pressed against each other but flowing past, through. It tottered on the pinnacle of bliss. Eden was himself, the dampness of Eastgate's mouth on his hand, the unforgiving wood of the floor against his knee. He was also on his back, looking up at his own face, tasting his own blood and the sweat of his skin. 

He was still himself, but he was also Ezra Eastgate. No, that wasn't his name. Eden's own name rose up in his thoughts. Anyone could see it. Memories and thoughts better left buried rushing with it. And the relief of having it all freed was so tempting. 

No. 

_No!_

Eden pulled back with a cry, falling onto his backside. He scuttled away on hands and heels until his back hit the door frame. 

_Shit_ . _Shitshitshit._

It felt like his mind was leaking. His power hotter and angrier than ever now that he'd lost the deep stillness of Eastgate's. 

Eastgate sat up, legs splayed slightly. He looked around, dazed. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You broke down the door," he croaked. 

Eden glared up at him through his fingers. “Yes.” 

“To save me?” Eastgate's voice was small. 

“Apparently. I’ll get it fixed." He'd try. The lock was a contorted mass of metal, frozen in the act of running down the wood. 

“It’s gone.” Eastgate blinked. “That creature is gone. What did you do?” 

Eden glanced around. The room was indeed devoid of not-ghosts. Surely that was a good thing? It felt like a good thing, but hovering over a chasm of a really scary thing. He was still breathing hard, not entirely sure where the boundaries of his body were. “Dunno. _What did you do?"_

Eastgate's cheeks darkened and he flinched, rocking backwards. "I, er, have no idea."

They sat quietly, awkwardly, not quite managing to make eye contact. Eden ran his trembling hands over his face. His bitten hand hurt like the blazes. Eden shuddered. Eastgate could have seen everything. His past, his thoughts, _his name._

Time to escape. 

“I should just…” Eden gestured at the door.

“Please, don’t leave,” Eastgate said at the same time. 

Eastgate looked terrible. Pale and shaken. Like he was about to drop. “I don’t know what you did, but now and at the saltmarsh yesterday, when you were there it felt weaker.” His eyes were pleading. 

Eden nodded. “Not staying here.” He couldn’t. Not with the image of Eastgate about to carve open his own wrist seared into his mind. 

“Oh, yes, I am asking rather a lot…” Eastgate's shoulders sagged. 

His aura started to knot again. The man looked about to disappear. Like he wanted to disappear. 

Eden couldn't leave him. Oh fuck it all, he didn't want to leave him. He forced his limbs to work. Eden dragged himself back across the floor so he could flop an arm around Eastgate's shoulder. Eastgate exhaled, face turning into the crook of Eden's neck and his hands sliding carefully round his waist. 

“Stay in my room, if you like?” Eden really didn’t want to be alone either. He was terrified of what that meant, and annoyingly the thing currently making him less terrified was the cool depths of Eastgate's energy wrapping around him. It smoothed over his anxieties, bringing him fully back to himself. 

Eastgate nodded against Eden's shoulder. "Yes. Please."

It took a while. They both had the walking skills of newborn foals, but eventually they made it into Eden's room and onto the bed. 

They lay side by side in the dark, the wind rolling off the saltmarsh tickled the glass and made the vicarage creak. 

Next to him, Eastgate fidgeted with the covers, wiggling his legs to get comfier. He was only a few inches away, but now that emotions had calmed it felt much further. 

There were so many questions in Eden’s head. They fought for supremacy, each desperate to be the first one answered. 

"How did you learn how to do it?" Eden asked the ceiling. 

"What?" Eastgate breathed. 

"Influencing." All of it. But that was the least overwhelming place to start. 

"I don’t know what that is?" The pillow rustled as Eastgate turned his head. 

Eden kept his eyes looking upwards. "After we kissed? Yesterday."

Eastgate tensed. 

"Don’t worry reverend, you’re safe. You blurred my memories though, substituted them with something else."

A slow breath. "Did I?" 

Eastgate's voice was all innocence, the dirty tease. And after what had just happened between them too. 

Eden snorted. "Don’t be coy. It _does_ suit you, but I don’t have the patience for it right now." 

And the other, more awkward question screaming for resolution was _he took your blood. What happened when he took your blood?_

Eden suspected he had the answer to that one, and it made him sick with terror. 

Eastgate rolled on to his side. "You tried _influencing,_ as you call it, on me in _The Hound_." 

"Hmm. So you do know what it is." 

"I recognised the feeling." Eastgate sighed. A long slow exhalation. "I was just afraid, about what I’d done, and presumed you didn’t want to think about it either, that you thought it was a mistake. I mean. Which you’d be perfectly right to do." 

"I don’t think it was a mistake." Eden didn't. And wasn't that just a gut punch. He was sick with terror about what had just happened with his blood but he wanted it to happen again. Both the kissing and all that came with it, and the relief of being held and seen by a power that could match and understand him. 

Eden clenched his fists. 

"Not a mistake?" Eastgate whispered. 

Was there hope in Eastgate's voice? 

"No," Eden said quietly. At least, it wasn't a mistake that he could bring himself to regret. He turned his head so he was still on his back looking at Eastgate. 

The reverend was curled up on his side, hands tucked beneath his pillow. It was too dark to see the expression on his face. That made it easier. 

"There is far more to you than meets the eye though, Mr Eastgate," Eden murmured. "I plan to spend time working out what that is. Get right under your skin and uncover all your secrets. One at a time. I plan to spend time on _you._ " 

Eden was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. He smiled, and because it was dark he didn't have to check it, or add an sneer. 

"You’re welcome to try, by all means." Eastgate huffed, but rather breathlessly. Then he rolled over, pulling the covers up to his chin. "Goodnight, Eden." 

"G’night."


	5. CHAPTER V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which secrets are discovered, and hidden and there is much smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> As an extra CW: Nothing sexual, but Michael does get very intense and handsy with Ezra in a quite threatening way here. Only flagging it up because it made me a bit uncomfortable writing it. 
> 
> Ezra/Eden smut afterwards though. Yay
> 
> Also, I apologise for the flashback. I'm still not 100% sure it works.

An unfamiliar slant of light fell across Ezra's eyes. The scent clinging to the pillow currently pressed against his cheek was not his own. It was too woodsy, smoky almost. Ezra turned his nose into the cotton and breathed it in. He was still half dreaming, floating blissfully in a place that reality hadn't caught up to yet. 

Bugger. As sleep fell away recollections of the night before rose up like unwelcome beasts from the depths. All teeth and tentacles. 

Ezra sat up quickly, fighting off the sheets knotted around his legs. His heart beat hard against his ribs. _Oh, Lord! What had he done?_ The emptiness of the spare room stared back at him. 

To be expected really. What a fool he'd made of himself. Ezra let go of Eden’s pillow and put his head in his hands. He exhaled long and slow. 

How was he to face Eden today? He'd behaved abominably, on several counts. And not at all as a host should. 

His shoulders tensed, waiting for the creature's words to attack. 

They didn't come. 

Both Ezra's head and the room remained empty. 

A creak on the landing outside made Ezra look up. He reclaimed the sheets, tugging them over his legs. No need to make things worse by confronting Eden with his knees on display. 

Ezra had just got himself into the most dignified position he could under the circumstances, when Eden backed through the door in nothing but his stockings and shirt tails. He, apparently, was not ashamed of his knees. He also carried a breakfast tray which he offered up with a lopsided grin. 

"Sorry, got up early. Bloody country air. And noise. How do you stand it? Look, not much of a cook. Spend all my time in the chop houses, but there's cheeses and cold ham. Bread and jam and tea. And some pears. Know you like them."

He put the tray over Ezra's legs and settled back on his side of the mattress. "Even made tea. Thought you'd need it. Was quite eventful last night, wasn't it?"

Ezra would not cry. He wouldn't. He'd just refuse to, that was all. "Thank you," he croaked. 

"About last night. Don't you ever do that again."

Ezra swiped at his eyes. "Which bit, specifically?" 

"Suffering alone for starters." Eden settled back and folded his arms. "You said last night I deserved better, well so do you. I don't care what that thing tells you. It is lying!" 

"Noted." Ezra wasn't going to cry. No, he was going to be terribly indulgent and eat jam and cheese together and not care that Mrs Potts thought that an abomination.

"And the influencing," Eden continued as though delivering a grand lecture to the Royal Society. "Stay out of my head. If I'm going to help you I need to know what's real and compromising that isn't worth the risk just because you got drunk and sucked me off."

Ezra skewered his bread with the jam knife. "We got drunk and you let me! Positively encouraged it!"

"It was your idea," Eden shot back. His grin became sly. "Not the point. Point is, did you enjoy it?"

"That's hardly…" Ezra concentrated on trying to perform surgery on his bread. His stomach swooped dangerously. He'd been drunk. It had been glorious. 

"I enjoyed it." Eden reclined on the pillows, one arm tucked behind his head and long legs stretched out. Ezra was desperately aware of Eden's thighs only half hidden by the drape of his shirt. 

Ezra abandoned the bread and sipped his tea. Both his hands and mouth needed to be kept busy. 

"Always like it when the posh boys get down on their knees for little old me," Eden said. "And you were very good. Eager, but just enough of a tease. We could do it again, if you liked."

The tea burned Ezra's throat as he swallowed too quickly and then tried to cough the liquid up again. "Are you tempting me?"

"I'm saying it was fun." Eden took Ezra's tea cup away. Their fingers brushed, and after Eden had put the cup down he leaned back in close. "No one got hurt. There's no reason to go messing people's heads up over it. Not yours, and especially not mine."

"It's a sin." It was. Admittedly that hadn't ever stopped Ezra before. It felt like his duty of care to point it out, however.

"Is it? Says who?" Eden shifted incrementally closer, leaning a shoulder against the headboard and gazing up at Ezra with those beautiful eyes of his. 

He wasn't wearing his glasses. Ezra realised how used he was to seeing Eden without them now. It felt like a privilege, but also a danger. An unlooked for closeness that just invited more.

"It's…" Ezra began doggedly.

Eden groaned and turned away. "Alright, I'm not going to debate theology with you and your Oxford degree. Just think about this, who are you more scared of finding out about last night? God? Or Cousin Gabriel?"

"Well, God already knows." Ezra fiddled with the edge of the sheet. And that had never stopped him before either. Ezra had always presumed the Lord had more important things to worry about than who Ezra enjoyed kissing. 

Or if the Lord didn't, then he should have. 

In London, during his more introspective moments, Ezra had often thought that if God did spend all their time covertly policing everybody's liaisons like a gossiping matron then that rather explained why so many other things in the world had gone to pot. 

"There you go then." Eden swooped in for a kiss. 

It was practically chaste, but still managed to knock all rational thoughts from Ezra's head. He melted into it, relishing the pressure of Eden's lips and the scratch of stubble. Basking in the fact that he'd not ruined everything after all. 

Eden drew back, smiling faintly as his eyes searched Ezra's. "Eat your breakfast, love. I'm going to get decent before Mrs Potts arrives. She's not one for gossip my pert little arse."

Said arse was swung about as Eden slid off the bed and scooped his clothes off the floor. 

Ezra sat mesmerised until the door shut. 

_Love!_

Ezra pressed his fingers to his lips. It had been so long since he'd really thought about his time in London. He'd not been in his right mind to begin with, but he'd found peace at his club. He and the other young men had made themselves a family of the dispossessed. Given each other space and support to grow into themselves. 

Ezra had even liked who he was, for a while. Eden had made him think that the could again. 

  
  
  
  


As soon as Eden left the bedroom doubt crept in. Had he been too pushy? Too needy? 

Too teasing? 

Luke would have found that amusing, right up until he hadn't. 

Eden ran his hands through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make his roots sting. Eastgate wasn't like Luke. He was kind, and sweet. Actually kind and sweet, not just a facsimile of what he thought kind and sweet should be. Eastgate was a bit of a bastard too though. 

And powerful. 

Deceptively so. Eden never would have guessed. He was like an iceberg with just a glimmer above the surface, but if you bothered to look closer you could see the deep well of it reaching down beneath the water. 

And wasn't that just Ezra Eastgate all over? 

The Authority would wet its collective drawers over him. Not that Eden would be telling tales. Eastgate had enough people pressing down on him and sharing their opinions on what he should do and who he should be. 

He didn't need a whole organisation doing that too. He didn't need Eden doing it either. 

Eden _had_ been too pushy. Bugger.

No wonder Eastgate’s aura was such a mess. He probably had no idea what he was, or if he did what he should do about it. 

Eden got dressed quickly in Eastgate's room, loathe to spend too much time in there. When he was done, Eden paused at the top of the stairs and slid his glasses onto his nose. He would not go back to Eastgate. Poor man needed time to think, and Eden had no control over what conclusions he would come to. He went downstairs and out to confront the bleakness of the saltmarsh. 

The causeway was clear, a still damp twist of ground sparkling in the early morning sunlight. Eden was almost relieved to see Shadwell's pony and trap bringing Mrs Potts onto the island. Sir Gabriel's gig following them was not so welcome. 

"Oh dear." Eastgate came to stand next to Eden, dressed but still slightly ruffled around the edges. "The grapevine has been at work." He gave Eden a nervous little smile. 

Eden tipped his hat at Mrs Potts as the pony and trap rattled past. He folded his arms when the gig stopped. Eastgate hurried forward and helped Miss Goodspeed down. She floated gracefully to earth and kept a tight hold of his arm. 

"Show me the church, dear," she said with a cold smile. "It's been too long since we spoke properly."

Eden glowered. He couldn't help it. He was sensitive to men he'd slept with being friendly with their female cousins. And as Miss Goodspeed guided Eastgate away, Miss Uriel trailing along behind, he was left with Sir Gabriel. 

Eden couldn't work out if that was the better deal or not. 

"Mr Eden, forgive me, we should have spoken sooner." Sir Gabriel strode forward, his smile condescending. 

It was a smile Eden felt more than confident of matching. He added a lift of his eyebrow for good measure. 

Sir Gabriel marched into the house. Eden spared a final glance at Eastgate's retreating back before following Sir Gabriel into the drawing room at his own pace. 

Sir Gabriel had settled himself in Eastgate's armchair as though it were his own. His arms open and legs spread wide. 

Eden's hackles rose. He stalked forward and, not wanting to sit in what he now thought of as 'his' chair, especially after last night's encounter, perched on the chair's arm as insolently as he could. He waited. 

It didn't take long. 

"Well, how is my young cousin?" Sir Gabriel finally said. 

"In regard to what, exactly?" Eden asked.

"This whole affair with the haunting,” Sir Gabriel’s smile grew into an oil slick across his face. His eyes were hard though, calculating. “You said it’d be sorted in a few days.”

“Only because you said that nothing occult was involved." Eden inspected his nails. 

“Mr Eden…” A touch of impatience undercut Sir Gabriel's voice. 

“Just Eden.”

“My cousin is fanciful and weak minded. He has always imagined phantoms. Whatever he may have told you, I advise you not to take it at face value. He gets _ideas.”_

There was just a hint of desperation in the way Sir Gabriel leaned forward. 

Exactly what was he afraid Eastgate might say? And did Eastgate even know what that was? 

“Did you know Eric was leaving _Angel’s Rest_ to join the Authority?” Eden asked, still worrying at his fingernails. 

“Eric?”

“Your underfoot man. The boy who _died_.”

“Michael deals with the staff." Sir Gabriel sat back and shrugged. “Has done since my wife passed on. Why is that important?”

“Because the victim had magical potential. If someone is in this town killing crafters then my superiors will want to know about it.” Eden tried to sound thoughtful, and a little bit regretful about any inconvenience this might cause.

“Is that a threat?” Sir Gabriel almost laughed. 

Arrogant prick.

“It’s a fact.” Eden said firmly. 

Oh yes, Sir Gabriel could swan in here all entitlement and inherited confidence, but he _was_ hiding something. His aura flickered nervously. Then it steadied. An honest smile finally found its way onto Sir Gabriel's face and it was thoroughly unpleasant. 

“And will your superiors take anything you say seriously at the moment? Especially if they know that you are once again ingratiating yourself with one of your betters?”

“Excuse me?” Eden lifted his eyebrows as his stomach sank. He knew what was coming with depressing clarity. 

“I know all about Lucian D’ville. And I know exactly the depths of naivety and disregard for self-preservation Ezra will allow himself to sink to if tempted."

“ _Excuse me!_ ” It was one thing to cast aspersions on his character, but Eastgate was… well, the sort of man to get drunk and suck you off, and then lie about it afterwards. 

But there were _reasons_ for that dammit. And Eden liked him. Liked him more than Sir Gabriel, and a great deal more than he liked himself. 

“Mr Eden, I think I can make you a better offer.”

Oh, Sir Gabriel sounded so sure of that. 

“You’re really not my type." Eden bared his teeth. 

Sir Gabriel ignored that, given that the suggestion of it was so far beneath him. “I take it you moved into the vicarage to be closer to Ezra? Well, I am terribly concerned for his mental state. It is fast deteriorating, I fear. Any evidence you can bring to me regarding that would enable me to make the best possible decision regarding his future care. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Eden did. He clenched his fists beneath his arms and told himself, very firmly, that punching a Knight of the Realm would not improve matters for anyone. 

"This is a delicate matter, and your discretion will earn you both financial reward, and my neglecting to mention to your superiors any advantages you may be required to take of my cousin in order to fulfil your duty. Do I make myself plain?” 

“Oh, adequately. You want my help, to what? Put your cousin in an asylum? And if I need to seduce him to get him there you're happy to overlook that? Just so I'm clear." Eden was impressed he got the words out around the bile rising up from his stomach. 

What did Eastgate know that was dangerous enough to provoke this behaviour? 

"If you wish to be vulgar about it." Sir Gabriel got up. 

"Oh yes," Eden muttered. "I'm the vulgar one."

“Very good. Then I look forward to speaking with you again." 

Sir Gabriel strode out, presumably of the opinion that the conversation had gone very well. 

"Arsehole," Eden muttered at the closed door. It did not disagree with him. 

  
  
  


The grip Michael had on Ezra's arm allowed no room for argument. He tried to turn back and apologise to Eden for abandoning him with Gabriel, but Miss Uriel was there stony faced and wielding a parasol like a rapier. 

Ezra swallowed and went where he was bid. 

"How _are_ you, Ezra?" Michael leaned against him, concern layered thickly all over her expression. 

Her interest, the fact she'd condescended to touch him, was all thoroughly disconcerting. Michael's fingers dug into his arm like talons. 

"Oh, muddling through," Ezra managed. 

She smiled sadly and nodded. "I visited Uncle E, you know? In London. Just before the unfortunate tragedy of his death. He spoke very fondly of you. Perhaps too fondly. He was not a good influence on you."

Ezra kept his mouth very firmly shut on his thoughts about that. 

"I'm sure he's the reason you're as you are," Michael mused. 

Ezra bit the inside of his cheek. He swallowed the response _and what am I?_ It was harder to do than normal. Eden’s morning kiss was a brand, his words still working their way through Ezra's thoughts. 

They were giving Ezra thoughts of his own. 

"Did he ever visit you, before the end?" Michael asked. 

"No."

"Really? The pair of you always seemed so close. Too close, really." Her talon's drummed absently on Ezra's forearm. 

"We corresponded for a while, but he had other things to occupy his time." Ezra had never found out exactly what those things were. Only that they turned out to be dangerous. The bookshop had been all shut up when he’d arrived. He'd been given cheap coffee in the police station and told he couldn't see the body. 

"Yes, that's what he said. I suppose he lost interest in you." Michael made it sound as though that was to be expected really. "And this Mr Eden…" Michael shuddered. "I can see how such a man _could_ be considered handsome. Intriguing even, but really, Ezra, you would tell us, wouldn't you if you felt you might stray?" 

"Stray?" _Oh, too late for that, my dear. I'm off the path and deep in the wood with the wolves now._

The laugh in Ezra's throat died as Michael stopped walking and spun to face him. She grabbed his shoulders, squeezing with a strength that was quite unsettling. "Oh my darling, I know he's charming, but Gabriel has been asking questions. I mean you aren't in the same league as a D'ville." She stepped back, holding him at arm's length. 

Ezra had forgotten how truly terrifying it was when his family noticed him. When he was their sole focus and couldn't slip away. Michael alone he could influence, maybe, but Miss Uriel too? He couldn't get away from both of them. 

"D'ville?" And Ezra couldn't help wanting to know. Eden's lover had been a _D'ville?_

"Oh! But of course you don't know. Your magician was the lover of Lucian D'ville. One of _the_ D'villes connected to the Earl of Helgate's family. Poor Mr D'ville was Eden’s partner until _very_ recently." Michael pouted in sympathy. 

"I see." Ezra felt sick. He was very much not in the same league as Lucian D'ville. He, for example, knew how to treat a lover. 

No wonder Eden had fallen so hard and had been used so terribly though. The D’ville’s were powerful, handsome, charismatic. Very, very used to getting their own way. 

And Eden was not nearly as assured or cynical as he wanted people to believe. And so starved for affection, so in need of being treasured. He had deserved better.

Ezra wanted to give him better. He had never loathed someone he had never met so thoroughly before. 

Ezra’s stricken expression was seized on by Michael and thoroughly misinterpreted. 

"Don't feel bad. Mr Eden just wanted a distraction and you were there and so thoroughly susceptible. Men like him are so terribly good at what they do after all."

" _Men like him?"_ Ezra heard those words how Eden must have heard them that first night. Could he ever apologise enough? He could start by giving Michael a good shake. Happy thought. He’d shake her until her teeth rattled. 

"So really," she carried on. "Whatever he's promised you or persuaded you to believe mustn't be trusted. I'm not saying these things to hurt you, Ezra. Quite the opposite."

"Your concern is touching." He couldn't stop the sarcasm spilling out. Even Miss Uriel tilted her head at it. 

A slight frown marred Michael's beautiful face. Her grip on him tightened and she stepped in close, nostrils flaring. 

For an awful moment Ezra thought she was going to sniff him. 

"You've changed, Ezra."

He did not care for the way she caressed his face, or the intensity of her gaze. 

"Not at all." He forced a smile through his discomfort. 

"No. You've been hiding." Michael’s hand came back for another pass of his cheek, lingering so she could keep his head up while she studied him.

"I've been right here. Right where Gabriel put me." And yet after this morning he did feel more substantial. Less like he wanted to dissolve into the air. Even with Michael’s presence battering against his own he did not want to retreat. 

"I never agreed with that. You should come back to _Angel's Rest_. Where we can look after you properly." Michael retreated and Ezra sagged with relief. 

"I'm perfectly capable…" He adjusted his cravat.

"But so fragile. So susceptible to suggestion. And this whole matter of young Eric's death has put you under so much pressure." She stepped back in again, cupping his jaw. 

Ezra jumped. He had been under pressure. For weeks. Years. What Ezra couldn't phantom was why Michael suddenly cared. "I'll consider it, of course," he hedged. 

"Well!" She turned back towards the vicarage. "I can see you won't be reasoned with. I tried my best and only hope we can make you see sense before it's too late."

  
  
  


"That was a thing," Eden murmured as the gig drove away. 

Eastgate's jaw was clenched and occasionally he would give in to a full lip worry. Eden wanted to squeeze his hand. 

"They want me to move back to _Angel's Rest_. Apparently you're a vile opportunist and seducer and not to be trusted." Eastgate turned his head, his face a picture of astonished surprise. 

It was a valiant effort at levity, but it did not hide how badly the visit had shaken him. Eden wanted to progress from hand holding to ear nuzzling. 

He was pathetic. How Luke would laugh if he knew. Eden noted, distractedly, that Luke was free to do whatever he liked now. Provided his wife let him. 

"It's worse than that," Eden said as gently as he knew how. "Your cousin is looking for an excuse to have you locked up. I'm being blackmailed to spy on you."

"Oh?" Eastgate's voice wobbled. 

"I won't do it. The Authority has dealt with the Lucian D'ville scandal. If Sir Gabriel tries to bring it up again. Well, I may lose my job, but he won't come out of it unscathed either."

"Ah." Still with the voice wobble. Still the distracted twitch of his hands. 

Eden tried to keep calm. This wasn't about him. Still his nerves twisted and writhed until he said, "They told you it was Lucian, did they?" 

Eastgate came slowly back from whatever black hole he'd been staring into. "A beautiful, rich arse indeed."

"You met him?" 

"No, but I read the Society pages. Him being so well connected and joining the Authority was quite the scandal to start with. No wonder they wanted to keep any other outrages quiet." Eastgate took a small side step. The back of his hand brushed against the back of Eden's, their little fingers momentarily slotting side by side before Eastgate moved away. 

Eden nearly collapsed. He wanted to collapse at Eastgate's feet and throw his arms around his waist so he could bury his face in his stomach. 

"That's me. Complete outrage." Eden was thoroughly impressed he could form the words, let alone sound so calm. 

"They really want me committed?" Eastgate tried to laugh, but he looked up at Eden with wide terrified eyes. "I mean I _knew_ they wanted me out of the way…" 

"I think it's more that they don't want us on good terms,” Eden assured.

"Divide and conquer?" 

"Is there any reason your family would want Eric dead?" It seemed the most logical place to go. There was more here than wanting a troublesome relative taken care of. 

"No. He did his job well. I mean there may have been some irritation over the lessons with Mrs Device, but that would have just made Michael more keen to write a letter of recommendation and get him out of the house."

Typical that Miss Goodspeed would know all about the theory of magic in her family but abhor the practise. Especially if one of her underlings showed any talent for it. And Mrs Device. Her witchy fingers were all over this tangle. 

Eden nodded slowly. "We need to find out what happened to Eric. There's something about the night he died. Something you know. Something I think your family wishes you didn't."

"I've told you, I don't remember."

"Do you trust me?" As soon as the words left Eden’s mouth he feared the answer. 

"I rather think...I'm getting there." Eastgate’s cheeks went pink. 

"That'll have to do." Eden would take what he could get, and try his hardest not to beg wantonly for more. 

  
  


They waited until the evening when Mrs Potts had finished fussing over the Goodspeeds' visit and was confident the two of them were capable of surviving the night like rational adults. 

Still, she gave them both a worried once over with her eyes before allowing Shadwell to help her up onto the pony and trap. 

Ezra sympathised with her concern. He rather doubted a rational adult would be pushing back his furniture to make a magic circle on his drawing room floor. 

He forbade the use of chalk or salt, so Eden set up candle stubs in dishes of sand at the four cardinal points. He flitted about the room in his rolled up shirtsleeves, banking the fire and piling two mountains of cushions in the circle's centre. 

When he was apparently satisfied he held out his hand to Ezra, who hovered by the door, trying not to wring his hands. 

Ezra stepped forward, heart fluttering and eyes on Eden's hand. They'd discussed what would happen and how it might feel. That hadn't made it less terrifying. Quite the opposite. He was prepared though. He wanted to trust Eden. There was a worryingly persistent part of him that wanted to carve himself open and let Eden nest in his heart, give him every secret Ezra possessed. He was too used to hiding though. Too cautious to trust entirely. He wanted it, but the reality of it still felt too dangerous. For both of them. 

He could give something though. Take down some of the barriers while keeping the core of his fear still hidden. Couldn’t he?

"Wait a moment." Ezra stopped. They weren't sure how long it would take. And Eden did look more prepared for a long night. 

Ezra really felt overdressed. And stuffy. The room was hot, the air sluggish. 

Before he could second guess himself, Ezra took off his shoes and coat, placing them neatly over the chair. He undid his cuffs carefully, aware of Eden's eyes on him. The other man had removed his glasses too. His eyes really were striking, and so expressive. 

Ezra was starting to wonder if that was the real reason Eden hid them. Or, at least, a larger part of the reason than Eden would care to admit. 

Eden's attention followed Ezra's hands as they rolled back his shirt sleeves. That focused, badly concealed gaze made the hair on Ezra's forearms tingle. 

It had been a very long time since he'd been looked at so speculatively. With a curious interest that invited more. 

Now wasn't the time. Very much not. Still Ezra unravelled his cravat slowly, undoing the top of his collar, just for the pleasure of seeing Eden try not to look. 

"All done?" Eden asked roughly. 

Ezra added the cravat to his pile of clothing and tugged down his waistcoat. He nodded. He took Eden's hand and stepped into the circle. 

There was already a tremble in the air as he crossed the boundary. Something familiar that made him tense briefly. Eden guided him to one pile of cushions, then dropped cross legged on to the other so they sat opposite each other, lightly holding hands. 

It was tantalisingly intimate. The careful weight of Eden’s palms on his, hearing his breath, and seeing the fire highlight the side of his face and burnish his hair to copper. The firelight caught in his eyes too. It made them dance. As though he really were a demon escaped from Hell and trapped on earth instead. 

Eden closed his eyes briefly and the circle snapped closed around them. Ezra jumped. 

Sound was muffled and although the heat was still there it was distant, no longer uncomfortable. Eden’s thumb daubed a patch of oil between Ezra’s brows. His skin tingled lightly. 

“For your third eye. Just almond oil. A touch of rose oil too. Should help it open up, help create a connection between us.” Eden swiped his thumb over his own forehead and tucked the bottle away. "OK," Eden murmured. "You don't need to do anything except direct your thoughts back to the night Eric died. Anything you remember. I'll be there with you, and if your thoughts around it have been influenced I'll see if I can find it. Just trust me. OK? I won't go rummaging in your head."

Ezra nodded. He was confident Eden wouldn’t and was more worried about what he might be tempted to reveal with Eden so close and being so kind. "I'll try." He squeezed Eden's fingers, closed his eyes and tried to relax. 

Ezra remembered waking up, face down at the base of the church tower, the early morning light glinting off the surface of the water and a row of polished buttons. 

"Before that?" Eden whispered. 

Ezra frowned. There was nothing but emptiness there. A worrying absence of anything. Ezra's jaw clenched. 

"Don't force it." 

Eden's thumb ran over Ezra's knuckles. The delicacy of the touch dragged Ezra's awareness back into his body. His thoughts jumped to the gentle glide of skin on skin. His breath hitched, eyes jerking open. 

Eden's own eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. His lips parted and his tongue peeped out to lick his top lip. "There," he murmured. "Think I see something."

It was like a morning mist over the marsh slowly lifting. Eden's presence was the sun, warmth flickering at the edge's of Ezra's mind. He relaxed into it, let Eden carry him deeper into his own memories. 

  
  
  
  


The influence was a shoddy patch job, rushed and jagged. Slapped on over what it was hiding rather than trying to replace it. The person who’d done it had some power, but no finesse. When Eden located it unravelling it was easy. And Eastgate's mind was more well ordered than expected. It was nice too, not that Eden would ever admit it, having an excuse to be surrounded by Eastgate's energy. It washed around him like a gentle tide. 

Eden smoothed the influence away, gently. Didn’t want everything rushing back at once and overwhelming both of them. "What can you see?" he whispered. 

"I…" Eastgate's breath caught and fear ran riot in his mind, pulling Eden under. 

_Ezra didn't know exactly what woke him up. All he knew was the inexplicable dread chilling his skin and the knowledge that if he didn't move now then something terrible would happen._

_He pushed his bare feet into his boots and slung a coat over his nightshirt. Outside the island was awash with moonlight. It shimmered across the slowly undulating grass and picked out the ripples of the distant water. The shush of the marsh water sucking on the sand was ever present, as was the salt-tinged breeze that always rolled in._

_The tower of St Beryl's was a sharp, dense, darkness in the navy sky. Gravestones bristled at the edges of the church like crooked teeth._

_A light fluttered between them, hazy and uncertain at its edges._

_The causeway was flooded and the island was restless. Ezra was used to being alone. The discomfort he had initially felt at being on the island alone was nothing to the realisation that there may now be someone with him._

_Ezra’s loneliness was vast. Eden couldn't keep the echo of his own at bay. He tried to keep himself locked up tight, but he wanted nothing more than to reach out and gather the other man in his arms. His body was a distant suggestion though, nothing but a buzz of pins and needles. Eden focused on the knowledge that Ezra aboreded unsolicited company at the best of times, but really, this was the outside of enough. Ezra been here three years now. He knew the dips and turns of the trail to the church. He set out without a light, his feet confident in the shadowed ground, and his heart compelled towards that will-o-whisp of light._

_As the Church loomed larger and larger above him, the sea wind picked up the voice. A wordless chant, that could have been Latin, although it sounded like no Latin Ezra had ever learned. Honestly, it sounded like they'd just made the words up._

_He climbed the dry stone wall that marked the edge of the graveyard and keeping low scurried to the protective bulk of the church. Ezra was not afraid, he was cautious, all the better to take whatever reprobates were out there by surprise. Or assess the situation before he intervened. It wasn't like he could get on his ancient bike and ride for help until the morning when the causeway cleared._

_He reached the church's corner. The very air itself hummed, a discordant buzz as though full of static. It smelled like ozone, the heady scent of a storm about to break._

_A primeval fear took root in Ezra. Something that drew him on, even as it begged him to run. With awful slowness he approached the corner of the church. The light he'd followed here was stronger now. A pool of garish yellow. A robed figure knelt on the ground, an array of objects spread out on a large sheet of paper._

_A map, of the island, would be Eden’s best guess, although Ezra was focused on the kneeling figure. It looked like the arrangement for a searching spell, or a summoning._

_The figure's head twitched back and forth as though checking on his neighbours that he was correct. It was more likely that as he turned to the left his hood slid back revealing a face that had been very much on Ezra's conscience. Eric had come to him seeking council. Ezra's council had not been… entirely honest._

_The air was unbearably thick now, dry and hot in Ezra's mouth. It made his skin tight and his brain melt._

_"It should be working," Eric said. "It feels like it's working but I can't see anything."_

_The cloaked figure to his right stepped into the light, kneeling beside Eric. The words spoken were too soft to hear, but Eric looked at them with adoration in his eyes._

_When the figure offered Eric the knife he only hesitated for a moment. He dragged the blade across his palm, holding it out to the figure for inspection._

_The cloaked figure took Eric's wrist in their hands, bent over as though ready to drink from his wound._

_Ezra couldn't quite remember how or when he had started walking towards the figure, Eric's name on his lips._

_Eric's head snapped round, horrified mouth agape as he recognised Ezra. The cloaked figure spared them only a glance before tugging Eric's hand into their hood. There was a violence to it, a hunger that made the energy in the air twist sharply._

_Cold terror flooded Eden's consciousness. He wanted Ezra to run, but the other man’s treacherous legs crossed the ground despite his mind and heart rebeling with each step._

_Eden recognised the thrum of magic and the air crackled as Ezra inevitably stepped over the invisible line of the circle mapped out in the ether._

_Eric screamed. For a moment it appeared that he was lit up from within. His eyes spewed fire. His skin began to shrivel as it was sucked into his bones, his face contorting as it collapsed in on itself._

_Eden cried out in horror. He was jolted back to the bookshop, of finding Fell’s body. The loss coloured the memory before him as Ezra lunged forward, but his body burned. It was like being torn open._

_Eden was only half aware as Ezra fell to his knees screaming as though his very being had been ripped in two leaving a tear for his soul to leak free._

_Eden was also on his knees, somewhere else, for someone else. His horror and grief tangled with Ezra's._

_Pain lanced through Ezra's skull. His sluggish thoughts suggested that he'd been hit. Hard too. Then his cheek landed in the damp grass and he was grateful to give up thinking altogether_. 

Eden smashed back into his own body, his throat raw. He was bereft. The grief of losing Fell clawed its way out of his past on the back of his anger over losing Lucien. Now, trapped in his own empty bag of flesh he was separate from Ezra too. 

Alone. Unloved. Unforgivable. Completely unprofessional. Eden's breath came in ragged gasps. He just needed a moment. He was having a moment!

"Oh, my dear." Eastgate's voice was close and so kind, so soft. Like a haven. 

Eden didn't dare open his eyes. The cushions rustled as Eastgate moved. The palm he placed on Eden's cheek was a gentle anchor point to the churning emotions inside him. He gripped Eastgate's hand, keeping it in place. Eden wanted the calmness of it soothing him. His eyes opened cautiously. 

Eastgate sat close to him, face creased in sorrow. How much had he seen? 

"You are worth so much more than you give yourself credit for," Eastgate murmured.

So, pretty much everything then. Eden shuddered and lowered his gaze, but didn't pull away from the thumb caressing the delicate skin at the corner of his eye. 

"Not worth much at all," Eden managed around the lump in his throat. He pushed his secrets down, locked them up tight. He still had the majority of his past. His name. 

And he'd nurtured his hurt from seeds. Grown it like the lushest garden and he couldn't let it all die that easily. 

"Love isn't finite. It doesn't come with conditions." Eastgate said firmly, like he believed it. Like he believed it was true for Eden. Which was ridiculous. 

He wouldn’t say that if he knew Eden. If he saw how he lived. 

"I was supposed to be helping you," Eden said. A poor imitation of an apology when all he wanted to do was stay here like this. Being cared for. Also ridiculous. 

He was too worn out to move though. Eden had been running and running, and now he'd finally stopped exhaustion took over. 

Eastgate's thumb brushed over Eden's cheekbone again. "And when was the last time someone helped you, Mr Eden?" 

"I don't know."

"Would you allow me to?" 

"Why on earth would you want to?" Eden closed his eyes again. Tears collected in the corners. He could taste them on Eastgate's lips. When had they started kissing? Deep and slow, infinitely sweet. 

Eden was selfish and needy. He wanted more. Craved it. His hand slipped up Eastgate's arm, over the tickle of the hair on his forearm until he gripped linen, dug his fingers into the meat of him, convinced himself they were both solid. 

They drifted apart, gazes searching each other's faces. 

"Is this alright?" Eden asked. 

Eden saw no regret in his saltwater eyes, and he none of his own soured the moment. Whatever magic had just happened had not faded but morphed into something more permanent. Something that simply was. It thrummed in and between their veins. The odd thing seemed how long they'd spent not being this close. 

Just don’t get too close, Eden warned himself. You’ll burn him. 

Eastgate’s aura had unfurled and free of obstruction it shone like a beacon. Eden ran his fingers through the light of it and back down to Eastgate's hair, his face. He dragged the pad of his thumb over that plump bottom lip. Eastgate's head turned with the pressure, tongue flicking out to lick the salt from Eden’s skin. He caught Eden's thumb in his mouth, keeping their gazes locked as he sucked. 

It awoke a jolt of fire, a furious raging want that burned straight down to Eden’s cock. With clumsy fingers he plucked one handed at Eastgate's shirt buttons, desperate for skin to touch. He had to stop as his own waistcoat was shoved from his shoulders. Damn his fancy tailoring, the garment was so tight. He had to let Eastgate go in order to wriggle it off. 

When he looked back up he was rewarded with Eastgate hands working open the rest of his own buttons. Eden hooked a finger in Eastaget’s open shirt front and dragged their mouths back together. They kissed hard, desperately feeding the spell weaving around them. Tongues and teeth and greedy, grasping hands. 

They only broke apart again when their rolled up shirt sleeves became a problem. Eastgate took Eden's hand in his, lowering his head to kiss his knuckles. 

It was romantic. Eden's foolish heart actually fluttered. He wasn't built for this. Did Eastgate not know that? Eden's whole body began to melt and Eastgate smiled up at him, as though he knew exactly what he was doing, and turned Eden's hand over so he could nip the inside of his wrist. 

Eden trembled, but tried to be brave. "You've done this before"

Eastgate glanced up from licking a stripe along Eden's forearm. “In London. A bit. You don’t end up in prison just for dancing a gavotte.” 

“Of course.” 

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Eastgate asked. 

And he'd stop. Eden knew that right down to his bones. If Eden said ‘no’ he'd stop without grumbling, or demanding an explanation. 

The realisation was dizzying. A surprised laugh escaped him. Eastgate lifted his eyebrows in confusion. 

Eden laughed again and wrestled his shirt over his head, tossing it away. "Kiss me again. Please stop talking and kiss me."

Before I break apart and let you know everything. 

Eastgate hesitated only to let his gaze sweep over Eden's chest once more, then did very much as he was asked. His nails scratched lightly over Eden's nipples and across his ribs. Eden was lightheaded with it. Eastgate was so calm, so thorough. Eden knew he couldn’t stand this much careful worship. He didn’t deserve it. He’d burn himself to a crisp. 

Except that he wouldn’t with Eastgate tempering him. At least he wouldn't burn until Eastgate wanted him too. 

Eden fisted the front of Eastgate’s shirt, frantically trying to keep his head while his neck was covered in torturously slow kisses. Eden whimpered, working his hand down to press his palm to the front of Eastgate’s trousers. He was rewarded by Eastgate gasping into shoulder, hips pressing forward so he could rub himself against Eden’s hand.

Trouser buttons next. Yes. He wasn't a blushing virgin. Eden set to work. Part of him was still aware of the tension in the air, the energy between the two of them pulsing and growing into something else. Something they were creating together. He wasn’t afraid though, had no desire to second guess what they were doing or what it meant. For the first time that he could ever remember, Eden knew he was where he was supposed to be. That this was right and his. 

Eastgate called him _darling_ , and that was good and right too. So was the weight of Eastgate’s cock in his hand, hot and leaking. The shifting tides of Eastgate’s energy were all around him, not quenching Eden’s own fire but moving with it, making it stronger.

Eden dared to say _darling_ back, knowing he wouldn’t be mocked or pushed away. Eastgate held him closer, kissed him harder and breathed it back into his mouth. _Darling, oh my darling, yes._

Ezra had so much love filling him, and he wanted to make sure Eden felt every single drop of it. 

A realisation was taking form somewhere in the depths of his consciousness. His memories about Eric’s death were still raw and new. They required further study. So did the glimpses he’d had of Eden’s memories, but it had been Eden’s sorrow that had swept Eastgate up. So similar to his own, but so much more devastating because they were Eden’s, and Ezra cared about him so very much. 

Ezra put his suspicions away, hid them deep, deep down with all his other secrets and focused on Eden. 

The fire crackled distantly. It was right next to them but they were cocooned in a bubble of their own, hovering, it felt, out of space and time. Ezra sat back on his knees as Eden fought his way out of his trousers. One of his beautiful hands pushed his hair out of his face. He truly did look like a demon with the fire light dancing over his ribs and the dip of his stomach. The long underside of his arm as he stretched. Eden’s lips curled as he caught Ezra watching. 

Ezra smiled back. Yes, he _was_ enjoying the view very much and didn’t wish to hide it. 

Eden’s fingers slid over his own belly, slowly down to the tops of his thighs, framing his erection. It was as beautifully long and lean as the rest of him. 

Ezra’s breath sounded harsh in his ears as Eden sunk gracefully back to his knees on the cushions.

Ezra couldn't resist. He lunged in for more kissing, hands sweeping over Eden's shoulders and into his hair, holding him safe and close. Eden trembled, fingers digging into Ezra's back. Then his arse, pulling their hips flush together. The pleasure of Eden's cock grinding against his made Ezra’s legs weak. It made him just a little bit desperate. 

Eden laughed, a surprising sound of delight, as Ezra grabbed his hips and turned him round, pushing him onto his hands and knees. 

“Eager?” Eden glanced back over his shoulder, and then wiggled his arse invitingly. 

“Aren’t you?” Ezra laughed too. It was an odd sound coming from him. 

"You done _this_ before?" 

"I think I can manage." Ezra would do more than manage. He found the bottle of almond oil discarded amidst Eden’s clothes. “ _Just_ almond oil?”

“Should help it open up. Help with creating a connection, if you will?” Eden leered.

Ezra snorted, nearly dropping the slick glass as he opened the top. The way Eden looked at him though. All that brashness such an obvious veneer covering the delicacy of his hope. How had it taken Ezra so long to see it. Now he could see it all, he couldn’t stop looking. His eyes traveled over the sharp blades of Eden’s shoulders, the vulnerable nob at the base of his neck. The sweep of his back, dimples set deep at the base of his spine. That arse. Ezra dug his fingers into the spare meat of it, spreading Eden’s cheeks and running an oiled thumb over the tightly furled ring. 

“Oh, you’re a tease. Knew you'd be a tease.” Eden gasped.

“I’m just getting started.” Ezra scratched lightly with his nail. Then lowered his head and used his tongue. 

Eden’s weight slumped onto his elbows, his head falling forward and back arching. “Ngk, that’s...you don’t have to do that.”

That just made Ezra want to do it again. Better. And in this charmed space they'd made where time moved slow as syrup, and looked just as golden, he could. He could try things he'd only fantasised about and count out the seconds in pleasure. And Ezra could feel Eden had never been taken care of like this. Knew it and wanted to do it now. Wanted to take such good care of him. Ezra had never released he had it in him to live like this, that there was so much of himself to give. 

Ezra licked slowly, sucked slower. He wrapped an arm around Eden’s narrow waist, keeping his hips up, idly caressing his twitching cock and enjoying the way his thighs shook. Fanciful thought, but Ezra was sure he could feel Eden unspooling around him, that raging fire burning low and hot like late night coals. Cherry red and scorching. He pressed his tongue against Eden’s muscle, heard him keen as he pushed back. It was just on the verge of too much. For both of them. 

Ezra sat back, reaching for the oil again. Eden’s head still hung low, his knees spread so far the leaking tip of his cock nearly brushed the cushions. “You want anything?” He asked blearily, head half turning. “Do anything you want. Not fair otherwise.”

Ezra shuffled forward, draping his chest over Eden’s back, careful not to crush him. Eden twisted his neck, let Ezra cup his jaw, looking up with dazed eyes. "Anything you want."

Ezra was unmoored too. Floating only half in his body. “I want you,” he said, surprised how certain he was. “If you’ll have me?”

“Want you too." Another insolent grin." _If_ you'll have _me_."

This kiss was at an awkward angle, messy and near violent. Ezra pressed a slick finger against Eden’s entrance, felt the give of his body as it relaxed, then clenched around him. Eden sighed into the air between them, shifting and adjusting the angle between them. When he begged for more, or for it to be deeper Ezra gave it to him. _Anything you want, my dear._

“Want you,” Eden gasped into Ezra’s mouth. “Don’t wait. I can’t…I’m ready.”

Ezra pulled away, keeping his fingers moving as he clumsily rubbed the last of the oil into his own aching cock. The first burn as he pressed himself into Eden’s body, the stretch of muscle pushing down on him, made him pause. He had to force himself to breathe. 

Eden huffed, his fingers curling against the cushions. 

“Is this…?” Ezra could barely speak, the words were mostly in his thoughts. _Good? Enough? Too much?_

“Sfine. Sperfect.” Eden reached back. His fingers digging into Ezra’s hip, holding him still as he pushed himself backwards. 

Eden’s grip was an anchor for Ezra’s leaping pulse. He hoped they would leave marks. He wanted to be marked. To mark in return. 

The slide of skin over the head of Ezra's cock was glorious. He stayed frozen, watching as Eden's body stretched to take him deeper.

_Oh, my darling!_

Eden trembled, breath jumping. “Keep talking.”

Had Ezra said the words aloud? “Beautiful man. I wish you could see how stunning you look like this.” He bent forward, his arms bracketing Eden’s waist. Ezra dragged his teeth over the delicate junction where Eden’s neck met his shoulder. 

Eden groaned and Ezra bit harder as he bottomed out. Eden’s spine curled and the noise he made, all pleasure and consonants, spiked behind Ezra's ribs like he'd been shot right in the heart. 

Ezra began to move. Gentle, then more demanding as Eden met his thrusts. Their movement drove them forward, downwards until Eden was laying on his stomach, grinding his hips against the cushions, Ezra between his splayed legs, thrusting, thrusting, losing himself in the headiness of being so close. His forehead pressed to the back of Eden’s neck. He could taste the sweat on his skin, the burn of his heat. 

They shifted, managed to kiss again, open mouthed and full of heavy breath and sighs, pleasure pulling taut between them. 

It almost hurt, hanging on the brink of it.

So close Ezra could feel Eden’s heart beat, each tremor of his joy. Eden’s love was a rich, deep dark thing, reaching out with hesitant hands. All Ezra wanted to do is draw him into the blanket of his own weaving. Warm, soft and safe. 

Not too close though. Don't risk that. 

It was a desperate pain, an awful wanting. Ezra couldn't stand for it to end, but he couldn't stand for it to stop. They were encased in each other's souls, deep and snarled. Ezra could barely unpick where he ended and Eden began. 

Still he held back. 

"Oh, my fucking _God."_ Eden shoved back hard, body clenching. Ezra moaned _my love, my love_ and Eden, still half twisted so they could kiss, grasped the back of his neck and drank the sound down. It was a long way to fall, but they clung to each other, shaking together. Body, mind and heart. 


	6. CHAPTER VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading. I really appreciate it. So nervous about this chapter. I hope it all makes sense...

They were kissing again. How long had they been kissing again? The fire still burned, but the light in the room had changed, there was more of it for starters. Grey and fragile, but still suggestive of morning fast approaching. 

Ezra was going to say something, he was. Then Eden shifted, pushing Ezra onto his back and straddling his hips. 

Ezra knew it had to stop, but couldn’t yet find the will to force the issue, especially when Eden began mapping his way down Ezra's chest with his tongue. He paused in his descent to leave delicate kisses over the bruise he'd sucked onto Ezra's hip earlier. 

Ezra's toes curled, body arching, encouraging Eden's mouth where he wanted it most. 

He was hard again. Sensitive and lethargic, a bit sticky and sore, but still wanting. Still wanted. 

Eden was gentle as he licked at Ezra's cock, took it into his mouth. Ezra wasn't gentle as he tangled his hands in Eden's hair. No harm to be done though. He knew what Eden liked now, and the hum of pleasure he made set everything tingling. 

This would not last long. And it would be the absolute last time. Absolutely. 

Ezra's hips bucked upwards, his cry a weak thing. He fell back into the cushions. Eden flopped down next to him, head on Ezra's shoulder. "Told you I was good at it." He nuzzled Ezra's neck. 

"I believed you the first time." Ezra's voice croaked. The air hung heavy with heat and the last threads of magic tangling them together. 

"Could have been a fluke. Novelty of it. Shall I do it again? Best of three." Eden lifted his head, and wiggled his eyebrows. 

He looked incredibly young with his hair mussed and eyes almost deliriously bright. Ezra's heart hadn't realised it could melt anymore. "Don't you dare, fiend. It'll kill me."

Eden shrugged, a very much _your loss_ kind of shrug, and settled his head back on Ezra's shoulder. It was almost second nature now for their legs to tangle together. 

Ezra closed his eyes, lifting a hand so he could push his fingers through Eden's hair and scratch his scalp. 

"What just happened?" Ezra murmured. 

“I just sucked you off. You came gasping for mercy. Offended you’ve forgotten already.” Eden's breath was warm on his neck. 

Ezra slapped him gently. “You know…!”

"Wish I knew. I'd bottle it. Make my fortune with sex pollen magic or whatever."

They settled into contended silence. Ezra rested his cheek on Eden's head. His eyes closed. Eden's breath was already deepening. 

They couldn't fall asleep again. 

"Eric was like you, wasn't he? A crafter?" That was the first thing that came into Ezra’s head that stood a chance of ruining his comfort. 

And he was comfortable. So comfortable he'd almost forgotten the danger they could be in. 

"Like us." Eden shifted his thigh higher over Ezra's, absently ran a finger down his sternum. 

Ezra's nerves twitched. Desire sparked low down in his belly. Focus. He had to focus. 

"And someone used Eric’s blood to take his power?" He forced the words out and tried not think of who that someone could be. 

Eden half sat up, placing a hand on Ezra's face so he could look into his eyes. "I won't let it happen to you."

How to explain it wasn't himself Ezra was worried about? Ezra's thoughts had been bubbling away below the surface. He knew what he needed to do. It was hard to find the words to shape that though. Words that wouldn't hurt Eden, or make him angry. 

Ezra had always been a coward, so when Eden started to speak he bit the inside of his cheek and stayed silent. 

"Knew someone it happened to once. Vowed I wouldn't let it happen again." Eden frowned down at him, the lines of his face going taut. 

"I felt it. Earlier when our memories went all gloopy." It had been one of the things Ezra had been mulling over. That fear and love and loss that was so familiar. "I'm not jealous, nothing like that. I want to know because if you cared about him so much he must have been very special."

"He was." Eden's gaze went thoughtful. It tracked over Ezra's face as though cataloguing his features. 

"My uncle…" That was where Ezra’s own fear and loss lay after all. 

"Also Ezra?"

"That wasn't really his name. It was...it's a nickname the family gave him. Me too." The words stumbled out of Ezra, skirting the edges of the truth he wanted to share, but was still too terrified to. 

"You have, in fact, been lying to me then?" Eden's smile did not quite reach his eyes. 

"Shocking, I know, Mr _Eden_."

"It's…" Eden wet his lips. "Just Eden." He looked away. 

Ezra tried not to be disappointed. He had no right to be really. Not when he still hid so many of his own secrets. The room felt less cosy, less safe. A chill breeze had found its way across Ezra's skin. "I don't know how this could work between us. If I could…" 

So many unknowns to navigate. And so many known ones, which were worse. 

Ezra swallowed as Eden's eyes flicked back up to his. 

"That's fine, I mean when my work here is done I'm not staying." Eden spoke quickly. Each word was harsh and clipped. He pushed himself up onto his knees. 

"Of course. I wouldn't expect you to."

If anything, Eden’s face became sharper. Ezra wanted to snatch the words back. That wouldn't change the reality of it though. 

Eden got up. "Thanks for the seeing to, reverend. Much obliged." He stepped over Ezra's hips and began gathering his clothes. 

Ezra fell back on the cushions, both hands over his face. There had to be something he could say. A softer way of…what? Delaying the truth of the danger Eden was in? Would be in if he _didn't_ return to London. 

The door slammed as Eden left. The last threads of magic in the room snapped. 

  
  


When Shadwell arrived with Mrs Potts, Eden was waiting for him, ready to hitch a lift back off the island. 

Last night had been so far out of his previous experience it had been like a dream. Typical that now he'd woken up it had all burned down around him. 

He'd made the same mistakes all over again. Falling too hard, being too vulnerable. Playing with a man far too out of his league. 

After everything that had happened between them, everything they had done, there were still things the infuriating cleric wasn't telling him. 

It made Eden angry. It made him sad. He lifted his glasses and dragged a hand over his eyes. Even that made his shoulders ache. It sent him back to being held down, legs over Eastgate's shoulders, bent almost in two while they fucked for…the second time? The third?

What the _fuck_ had happened? Rose oil was associated with love potions but there hadn't been enough for that? Eden gnawed on his thumb nail. He ached everywhere, and the worst of it was right in his chest as though he'd been handed something precious and dropped it, watched it shatter. 

Eden winced as he climbed into the trap and gave Shadwell far too much money to drive him to _Angel's Rest_. Not all the way to the front door. Just the gate. 

Shadwell looked at him curiously, but further payment prevented any questions. It was just a hunch, Eden had. Something about names and the way Eastgate sometimes looked. The crinkles at the edges of his eyes when he was genuinely happy, the way the tip of his nose turned up. They were niggles that Eden wanted to get to the bottom of. 

And he had to do something. He had to keep moving. Keep thinking. Anything to keep the inferno building inside him occupied. 

Eden hunkered down next to Shadwell and tried to ignore the gaping wound in his heart as they drove further away from Eastgate and the island. 

  
  


Ezra heard the pony and trap leave and hurried to the window to check that he could see Eden’s black hat next to Shadwell’s flat cap. His stomach clenched painfully as they drove away. Still, he had done the right thing and what he proposed to do next was also the right thing. 

It had to be. 

Ezra went upstairs to his room and retrieved the Box from his bedside drawer. He dropped it on the bed, and before he could think too closely, opened it up and fished out the ring. The cool weight of it fit so comfortably in his closed fist. 

The edges of Ezra’s vision tremored. He clenched his jaw and squeezed the ring tight. 

An insidious whisper tickled his ear. _You could have done better._

Ezra was no longer entirely certain what the creature was referring to. 

Pushing Eden away had been the right thing to do. It had. 

If someone was stripping crafters for their power, and if Ezra was right about who that was, Eden had to leave. 

It hurt though, deep in his bones. 

_Do better._

Ezra turned to face the shadowed corner of the room. Wisps of grey smoke curled into the suggestion of a shape. He did not have time for this. 

“I’m interested to know what you define as better,” Ezra snapped. “You insubstantial _arse!”_

The smoke stopped moving. It was impossible for something without eyes to blink in shock, and yet startled really was the best way to describe the way it hung awkwardly in the air. 

“Thought so.” Ezra shoved the ring in his coat pocket and stormed from the room. 

He was going to do the right thing. 

  
  
  


Eden entered _Angel’s Rest_ through the servant's hall. He found a box to carry. That and a bit of glamour and no one would question a man walking with purpose. He left the box (freshly delivered eggs from the estate) at the top of the stairs where someone would trip over them and return the unbroken ones to the cook. 

He wound his way carefully through the house until he arrived in the upper gallery. 

About half way along Eden leaned back against a handy window cill and faced the family Angel's portrait. 

“This is all your fault, mate.” Eden regarded the Angel’s enigmatic smile. He could see Eastgate in the depth of expression in the portrait’s not quite green eyes. They held fascination and hope, and fondness for the world he was looking out at. It reminded Eden of someone else too. If Eden were honest with himself, which he found uncomfortable at the best of times, he had for a while. Ever since he’d first spoken to Eastgate. Nothing specific, just the occasional turn of phrase, the tilt to the head. The rare but dazzling glimmer of mischief in his voice. 

Then after last night the trickles of memories had turned the niggles into a full blown suspicion. 

There was a reason, it turned out, that Eden had been thinking of Fell so much these last few days. 

He stepped in close to the portrait, nose almost touching the paint. Eden lifted his glasses and looked at the ring. Not large enough for any kind of detail. A pinkie ring, as he remembered and, with the right wishful thinking and a healthy dose of optimism, it could be the one Fell had done his excruciating magic tricks with. 

Eden took a deep breath. This was not a breach of Eastgate's privacy. This was part of an investigation. Eden needed to know to do his job, didn't he? 

Eden dropped his gaze to the engraved metal plate on the bottom of the portrait’s frame. 

He let the name on it sit in his head for a moment, just enjoying the shape of it, the warmth that it spread down to his toes. He whispered Eastgate’s name aloud. 

“Aziraphale.”

Suited him. Eden said it again. Playing with the nuances of it. He thought of the sign over a bookshop in Soho. A fussy little calling card handed to him on the street when Fell had first caught him stealing. 

A.Z. Fell. 

Close enough to Aziraphale. If the person thinking it also thought a coin pulled from behind the ear of a scruffy, cynical boy from the London slums was the height of sophisticated sorcery. Eden snorted, the fondness momentarily taking the edge of the hurt.

Fell and Uncle Ezra were the same man. Eden was sure of it. Fell had been in possession of the Goodspeeds’ family ring and whoever had killed him for it had now turned their attention on Tadfield. On Eastgate. 

Eden needed to get back to the island. No, he needed to telegram for backup. He needed a more thorough interrogation of Mrs Device who had gone so far out of her way to help Eric despite the opinions of his dear mama. 

Eden clattered down the main staircase of _Angel’s Rest,_ not caring who saw him.

As he skidded on the rug in the entrance hall there was a tug down low in his belly. Love and hurt snarling up into something with thorns. Eden changed direction, compelled to head for a door that looked like any of the others. 

The room he stepped into looked like Miss Goodspeeds’ receiving room judging by the delicacy of the decor. All pastels and swirling lines. 

Full length windows dominated the wall opposite the door. Eastgate stood in front of them, a hand braced against their frame as he gazed blankly out into the garden. 

His aura was a mess again. Tight to his scalp and twisted up painfully. 

Eden relaxed at the sight of him. Relief spooled through his blood. He was still broken, but his broken bits and Eastgate’s broken bits slotted together so well you could barely see the cracks. “Come back to London with me.”

Eastgate turned sharply, eyes growing big with shock. 

Eden took a step back, just about ready to implode with mortification. He never learned, did he? Needy, needy fool. 

“I’m sorry?” Eastgate was all polite bafflement. At least, his voice was. His hands clenched together, fingers knotting and unknotting over his stomach. 

Eden tried not to cry, tried not to shout or sound unhinged. He fought the desire to cross the room, sweep Eastgate up in his arms and thoroughly debauch him on his cousin’s silly little desk. 

“You aren’t safe here.” There, that sounded reasonable. 

“My home is here," Eastgate insisted. 

“With your mad family?” Alright, that came out less than rational. Eden vowed to do better next time. 

Eastgate blinked at him. “I’m going to talk to them. Smooth things over. I can be who I am here, if they would listen.” 

“I know who you are!” Eden gave into the need to be closer. He stalked forward, nearly backing Eastgate into the wall. The reverend took one step back, but then held his ground, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet. 

Eastgate had sounded so earnest. So convinced that he was being rational. Eden wanted to scream. That wouldn't be helpful. Focus on facts. That was what he needed to do. 

“Where’s the ring?”

Eastgate went pale. “What ring?” he said far too quickly. 

"Your uncle's ring." The growl crept up Eden’s throat, barely contained by his teeth. “Please don't lie to me.”

Eastgate looked away. His aura shook. “Please don't make me.”

“You still don't trust me!” The words bubbled out of him. Eden cringed, stepping back and rubbing his eyes. 

“I’m trying. Please, if you could trust _me_ you could stay here.” Eastgate crept forward, hand reaching out. 

“As what?” Eden sighed. 

“I...don’t know. I told you, I don’t know how this could work, but I’m not like you.” Eastgate's hand dropped to his side. 

“Like me? No, we’ve established you're not _a man like me_.” Eden's anger rose again, easier to deal with than the complete emptiness inside. 

Eastgate flinched. “No. That’s not what I meant. Just, let me speak to them and then meet me in _The Hound_ tonight? We can talk properly. Please, we'll talk later."

“I need to go anyway, I need to contact my manager," Eden said through gritted teeth. And corner Device. He'd bind her if he had to. Bind her to the full extent of the law, magic and mind and will too if he could wrangle it. Whatever it took to get to the bottom of this. 

“Mr Eden as well, what a pleasant surprise." Miss Goodspeed even managed to sound pleasantly surprised.

Perfect. Eden turned back to face the door. 

“Miss Goodspeed. Glad I caught you." Eden straightened his shoulders and tried to put Eastgate out of his mind. " I feel obliged to inform you, for courtesy’s sake, that I’m contacting the Authority to send other members of my team to the area. It appears someone has been stripping crafters of their power. I fear for the safety of those who are left. If you could pass that onto your brother I’d be very grateful.”

“But of course. Miss Uriel will see you out.” 

Miss Uriel stepped forward, parasol at the ready. Eden hesitated, he risked a glance back at Eastgate who was trying to shrink back into the scenery. "I'll see you later." It came out half threat and half plea. 

Eastgate nodded, pale and fidgety. Eden didn't want to leave him alone here with his cousin and whatever ridiculous scheme he had to stop them locking him up. 

Eden's pride hurt enough to suffocate everything else though. He spun on his heel and left the room, Miss Uriel following close behind him. 

"I know the way," Eden muttered when they were back in the hallway. "Front door's right…" 

Eden fell to his knees, the back of his legs stinging. The blow had been hard enough that he toppled forward onto his hands, his glasses came off and slid across the floor. He turned, just as Miss Uriel swung the parasol again. Pain shot across Eden’s cheek. As he fell back Miss Uriel hitched up her skirts, enabling her to get close enough to get one hand in his hair and slam her handkerchief over his mouth. 

The lace tickled Eden’s nose and a strong-sweet smell wormed its way into him. He clawed at her wrist, stubbornly trying not to breath. She wrenched his hair making him gasp. Gradually consciousness slipped away. 

  
  
  


Ezra stood quietly in Michael's receiving room resisting the desire to run for his life. That would be unnecessarily dramatic. She was his cousin. He could save her, and maybe then she, at least, would know he was worth _something._ He could stay on the island caring for his flock. He wouldn't have Eden, but Eden would be safe in London and Michael would let him go because she would have all the power she wanted. 

“Ezra!” She glided forward and took his hands in hers. “I quite thought I’d frightened you away yesterday. I feared I was too forthright.”

“Not at all.” All other words rather failed him. Ezra searched her face, doubting his conviction that it had been her with Eric. 

What was he basing it on, except their odd conversation yesterday, a glimpse of a robed figure with Michael's almost military poise, and an inkling that something about her really wasn't right? Hadn’t been since she’d become so engrossed in family history. 

Even Gabriel hadn't been able to restrain her. 

Michael held out her skirts and sunk onto the sofa, gesturing to the armchair opposite. Ezra sat down on the edge of the seat, his hat propped on his knee. 

“So…?” Michael tilted her head towards him. “Can I help you with something?”

Ezra took a deep breath. “I wanted to help you.”

“Oh, how sweet. Why do you imagine I need your help, Ezra?”

The room was shrinking. The whole world pressed down on Ezra in a moment. 

This was the right thing to do. It always should have been Michael who was so much smarter, so much more passionate. 

And yet, she'd killed Eric. Nausea bubbled in Ezra's stomach. 

Perhaps he should have gone to Gabriel? Who wouldn't have believed him. And had already demonstrated he would do anything to avoid a family scandal. 

No. There'd be no justice there. 

No justice for Eric.

Ezra had tried to be better, but he'd failed.

Ezra reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. He shuffled to the edge of his seat holding it out on his palm. "Here."

Michael stared down at it, her body very still. She rolled her lips inwards, pressing them tight together and glanced up at him with her fine brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

Ezra exhaled. The relief was almost crippling. He’d been wrong. The figure in his memory hadn’t been her after all. 

“Nothing.” He went to close his hand. 

Michael darted forward onto her knees, her fingers clasping his wrist. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t accept it. Really, it’s been so long since you brought me a gift.” 

She was surprisingly strong and short of smashing her over the head with his hat there was very little Ezra could do to prevent her taking the ring from him and sitting slowly back into her seat. He waited, muscles tensing as she held it up for inspection. 

“Didn’t Uncle Ezra have a ring like this?” 

“Very like, yes.” Ezra stood up. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“No, I don’t think you have. I’m the one who is at fault here. So many years wasted, and all the time you did have it after all. He gave it to you. I even went through a stage of thinking Eden had stolen it. I saw him hanging around the bookshop, you know. When he came here I wondered if he’d have it on him, but he seemed so uninterested in our Angel’s story.” Her gaze travelled over Ezra. “I can see why. He’d found an angel of his own.” 

Ezra had jumped to his feet. "You've been to the bookshop. You know who killed our uncle?"

Michael flopped back in her seat and rolled her eyes. "Of course I know. Think about it, Ezra."

The ground could have swallowed him and Ezra wouldn't have noticed. Eric alone could have been an accident. But Uncle Ezra too?

She'd been the one he'd written to warn Ezra about? 

He clenched his fists around the hat brim. “Michael. Look, you have what you’ve been looking for now. So what happened with Eric, it doesn’t need to happen again.” It didn’t need to happen to Eden. “You can stop. You have the Angel’s power.”

“No, silly. I have his ring. It's just a ring. You still have his power. That’s why you blundered into the circle that night. The spell did work, just not at all how I thought it would. I was hoping for just a location, but Eric summoned you.” She clapped her hands. "And I thought it was just you being your usual inconvenient self."

“No...that’s not…” The pain he'd felt stepping into the circle! Ezra had thought if he'd kept the ring locked up the magic wouldn't mean anything. But he'd been doing things subconsciously for years, hadn't he? The creature had started appearing that night. It was him. His magic. His own fear and hate all taking shape. Ezra hadn't even realised how unhappy he'd been with himself, he'd been accepting it for so long. 

“Yes, it is.” Michael stood up. 

"Yes." Ezra stepped back from her. Terror clawed its way through him. He didn't know if it was that holding him fast, or something Michael was doing to him. 

"And now I've finally found a use for you." Michael's hand touched his arm. It may as well have been a shackle. 

Really, this was no more than he deserved. And Eden had left. Eden was contacting London. He'd still be safe. 

It occurred briefly to Ezra that he could fight back, if the power was still his. He had no idea where to start though, and if he started would he ever be able to stop? 

The door opened and Ezra's hope died as soon as it was born. Miss Uriel shut the door and stood in front of it, hands clasped and gaze cold. 

She didn't seem at all surprised by the scene in front of her. 

“How’s our guest?” Michael asked. 

“Trussed up like a hog and waiting for you," Miss Uriel said with no small amount of satisfaction. She twirled Eden's glasses around by one of their stems. 

"You have me!" Ezra shouted. "You have what you want. Let him go."

"Touching," said Michael. 

"Predictable." Miss Uriel rolled her eyes. 

"Think of him as insurance for your good behaviour, Ezra. Now, we need to get you home before the causeway closes." Michael patted his arm. "I'd rather not be disturbed when I kill you. Or have the inconvenience of moving your body too far."

Eden woke up with a headache and a foul temper. He was also soaked from the shoulders up. 

"Shit!" He shook his head to get the wet hair out of his eyes. 

"Language!" 

"Hey!" Eden craned his neck to look into the shadows. "If you felt this bad you'd swear too."

He was lying on a cold stone floor, wrists and ankles tied. The fact he was on his side meant one of his arms was a snarled mass of pins and needles. There was a persistent throbbing in his head. And the water had been cold.

And that was only the physical pain. There were emotions making themselves rudely and desperately known. Eden didn't want to deal with any of them. 

He wasn't sure where he was or how he'd got here. Only that it was dark and dust, and the person holding up a lantern was Mrs Device. 

"Is this the bit where I say you'll never get away with it?" Eden asked. 

Mrs Device put down the now empty bucket and lantern. She knelt down behind him. "You thought it was me? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted." She started to loosen the ropes around his wrists. 

"Unless you're releasing me as part of an elaborate double bluff," Eden muttered. 

"And was that also why I summoned you?”

Eden sat up. "Ah, shit!" Blood flowed back to his arm and it burned. "You'd be surprised how often that happens. It's almost like other crafters want to show off how much cleverer they are than us. Like being in the Authority is such a badge of honour. Honestly, it's less employment you sign up to than indentured service."

Mrs Device looked up at him with real sympathy. It was disconcerting. "Which is why I never applied. It is safer sometimes though. To be with other people who are the same as you. That's why I suggested it to Eric. I was surprised how reluctant Miss Goodspeed was to write the reference."

Eden looked up from rubbing his ankles. She was mentioning this now? "A woman who'd be able to waste such fine material on a dream pillow, you mean?"

Mrs Device smiled wickedly. “You do have a brain.”

Eden frowned at her, but he was too busy watching shapes forming in his head. Miss Goodspeed hadn't wanted Eastgate there that night in the churchyard, so she’d made the dream pillow to keep him asleep. She hadn't known what he was, but she’d needed Eric’s power to help her find out. Did she know what Eastgate was now? Stupid man! What had he expected to achieve by speaking to her today? And what had he said?

The emotions that Eden had been trying to ignore twisted painfully.

Mrs Device spoke briskly. "Pulsifer saw Miss Goodspeed crossing the causeway with Reverend Eastgate. My dear husband has about as much magical talent as a brick, but he knows when something fishy is going on. It didn't take _us_ long to figure something was up."

"Alright. Don't rub it in." Eden tried to put weight on his legs, but his ankles objected violently. 

"Come on. You need to move before the causeway closes." Mrs Device was already up, opening a window high up in the wall. It swung open with a crash. 

Eden massaged some feeling back into his ankles. "I can't walk."

Mrs Device grabbed the front of his coat, dragging him forward. "I summoned you here to save Eastgate, but you need him to save you too." 

"What?" 

"You're complements you idiot." Mrs Device let him go as though said idiocy was catching. 

"We're nothing like each other," Eden protested. His conviction did nothing to weaken the pleasure that the idea gave him. 

Mrs Device rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be! That's the whole point." Mrs Device took Eden’s arm and began to help him to his feet. “What do they teach you in London? I’m glad I never applied! Being someone’s complement isn’t about being like them. It’s about balance and how you can turn each other’s weaknesses into strengths. When the two of you are together...well, even one of my girls could see how your energy pulls towards each other.”

Eden denied this with a string of unintelligible sounds. His stomach was swooping though. Eastagte was his complement. The perfection of that made him laugh. 

Mrs Device frowned. “Don’t argue with me. It’s not like you can see your own aura is it?”

Eden managed a huff. It was rather ruined by the stupid grin stretching his face. He and Eastgate were compliments! If he could get to that island, to Eastgate, whatever Miss Goodspeed had planned would be over in a moment. 

“Well then. Come on.” Mrs Device offered her hand and helped him climb to his feet. 

Life was coming back to Eden’s ankles as he clambered out of what he had thought was a window and turned out to be the external door to the coal cellar for _Angel’s Rest_. He’d never been more pleased that he wore predominantly black. He hobbled along behind Mrs Device until they were away from the house and into the tree line. 

“Here we go.” Mrs Device said proudly. “Your transportation, Mr Eden.”

Bentley the devil horse snorted in welcome. He graciously accepted the apple Mrs Device pulled from her apron pocket and offered up to him. He whickered in amusement as Eden took a cautious step backwards. 

Eden was good at being an arse when faced with authority, and he could appreciate when someone else was doing it to him. Even if that was a horse. He stepped up close to Bentley, telling his adrenaline soaked body to ignore the fact that the animal was taller than him, broader than him and had much sharper teeth. He grabbed the bridle again. Bentley remembered the moves. He put up a token resistance and then contended himself with just eyeballing Eden.

“Remember me, gorgeous boy?" Eden whispered. "We’re going for a run. Fast as you like.”

Bentley snorted in agreement, although there was a distinct element of _if you think you can stay on,_ to it.

Eden let it slide. He was in a rush, and worried that he’d never actually ridden a horse before. 

Mrs Device provided nothing except amusement as Eden hauled himself half way into the saddle and slithered into a sitting position. Bentley, to his credit, waited until Eden had at least one foot in the stirrups before surging forward. 

Eden shrieked, and hoped to God he was already too far away for Mrs Device to hear. No such luck. Her words reached him as the low hanging branches whipped past. “Just point his head in the right direction and don't fall off!”


	7. CHAPTER VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eden talks a very great deal and the writer apologies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra content warning for some violence here. See end notes if you're worried. 
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I'm still not sure it's quite right, but it's reached the stage of settled. If that makes sense? Thank you all for reading and supporting.

Eden hung on to Bentley’s back. His whole body was tense, from the fingers he had tangled in Bentley’s mane, to his legs gripping the horse’s sides. Eden was bounced with every giant stride they took and the wind buffeted whatever part of his face was exposed, bringing stinging tears to his eyes. 

He hated horses. 

At least this one was fast. Eden barely glanced up at the screams Bentley caused as he galloped through Tadfield. Eden finally dared to look up when he heard the call of the marsh birds and saw the sharp point of St-Beryl’s tower in the distance. 

Bentley slowed, but only because the path here was mostly dirt and stones and he was sensible enough to value his own life, if no one else’s. They wove their way through the hillocks of sturdy grass towards the causeway. The water was already creeping over its edges, sucking the sandy path back into it’s maws. 

The tide was coming in fast. It was a long way to run. 

Could horses swim? Could Eden? He was too skinny to float properly, he was sure of that. 

“What do you think?” Eden asked as Bentley picked his way carefully down to the flat mouth of the causeway. 

Bentley sniffed. Pawed at the ground irritably. 

“Yeah. I’m game if you are,” Eden muttered. He squeezed Bentley’s flanks encouragingly with his thighs. Bentley leapt forward. Eden hung on. 

As Bentley galloped, long legs eating up the ground beneath, it looked like they’d make it. Even when Eden started to feel the spray of the salt water as Bentley’s hooves landed the odds looked pretty good. Of course, the higher the water got, the slower Bentley got. The tide, it appeared, would be faster. 

Eden hung on, watching the grassed edge of the island get closer. Closer. He caught himself talking, promising the horse all sorts of ridiculous things if he kept going. Bentley’s ears flattened back against his head as he waded forwards, the water almost up to his knees. 

_ You’re being dramatic,  _ was conveyed with a derogatory snort. 

Eden hung on, trying to keep his boots dry until they struggled up the bank, the water reluctantly giving them up with a slurp. 

Bentley tossed his head and set about cropping the grass. Eden hung on. It was reflexive by this point. The world turned grey as the sun sank. Birds shrieked and circled overhead. Eden took a long, deep breath and convinced his muscles to unclench. He slithered off Bentley’s back and onto the ground. 

“You’re a good horse.” 

Bentley agreed and continued to graze. 

Eden rolled onto his hands and knees. He was soaked. Wool trousers uncomfortably heavy and clinging to his ankles. He began to squelch towards the vicarage, wondering if he’d move faster without his boots on. 

There was smoke coming from the chimney and the front door stood open. Eden peered inside. The house was quiet, the air slow and heavy. Eden walked cautiously down the hall, poking his head into the kitchen. It was pristine, Mrs Potts apparently having tidied up and left a while ago. 

A cough came from the front room. Eden’s head snapped round. He toed of his wet shoes and crossed the hallway, pushing open the door. Someone sat in Eastgate’s armchair reading the paper. They had brown hair, but the crossed legs extending beyond the arm were too long. The shoes were too irritatingly shiny. 

Eden took a careful step into the room. The paper rustled as a page was turned. Eden snagged a heavy looking nicknack off the side table. He took a step forward. The floorboards creaked. 

Sir Gabriel jumped up, turning round to catch Eden advancing with a fat Crown Derby cherub raised to attack. As a weapon, it was rather outmatched by Sir Gabriel’s gun. 

There was that awkward moment at any social gathering when people first noticed Eden’s eyes. Gabriel’s mouth twisted in shock and, probably, disgust, and then good breeding won out and he sighed. “Could you not stay locked up? Your death will not be helpful. I really can’t bribe another public institution.”

“Take heart,” Eden replied. “If anything happens to Ezra the whole bloody Authority will come crashing down on this island and you'll be locked up. Some of them are on the way now.”

Except, Eden realised, they weren’t. His telegram to Bea had been rather overtaken by being drugged, tied up, rescued and nearly drowned. 

Well. Shit. 

Still, no one else knew that. And Eden could bluff. He’d been bluffing his whole life. 

Sir Gabriel looked only mildly put out by this threat. “That would be inconvenient.”

“Too late. Got in contact this morning. First thing before I went to  _ Angel’s Rest _ .” Eden grinned. He lowered the cherub because his arm was starting to ache. 

“Still, even if your cry for help was delivered today, it’ll take time to mobilise a unit. If they even care to. The first train from London leaves at seven fifteen. That’s a three hour journey to Oxford Station, add another hour to get to Tadfield. Time for orientation, to discover how to get down to the island. I’d say that gives you until tomorrow tea time to stay alive. What are your chances of that, do you think, sport?”

Eden was disheartened, and yet not surprised that Sir Gabriel had memorised train timetables. With hindsight it seemed like the sort of officious thing he would do, as was complaining when said trains were late. 

“Fine.” Eden replaced the cherub and raised his hands. “If I give up graciously I take it you can’t shoot me…”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“...I mean, waste of magic that would be. Shooting me without good cause. Your sister would be miffed about that, I reckon.”

Sir Gabriel’s face creased in displeasure. “Turn round. Walk out of the vicarage. I’m right behind you.”

Eden went to step back, then paused. “Becoming a bit of an addict, is she?” He asked with sympathy.

“Walk don’t talk, Eden.”

"Hey, no judgement from me. You just want to watch out before getting her fix becomes too regular. I bet at the start she could do it without killing people at all."

Sir Gabriel tightened his grip on the gun. 

Eden wet his lips and pressed on. An excited buzz of nerves pushed through his fear. "Then one day there's a slip up, or Miss Goodspeed chances it too far, too fast, or someone fights back."

"I'm warning you…" Sir Gabriel growled. 

"Who was the first body, Gabe? Someone you knew, was it?" 

Sir Gabriel's eyes had a desperate hardness to them. His face was ashen. If this were Luke, Crowley would have backed down, probably, depending on how angry he was, or how desperate for validation. He was angry and desperate now, and had a lifetime's practise at being a provocative little shit. 

"Someone close to you?" Eden chanced. 

"It was an accident," Sir Gabriel ground out, jaw clenched. 

Oh, yes. Eden was onto something. "Yeah, they always say that. But the truth is when you taste that power you'll do anything to have it again. Nothing else matters. Hurts if you're on the receiving end too. Quick though. If it makes you feel better, it was probably over before the late Mrs Goodspeed realised what was happening."

Bingo. Sir Gabriel flinched at that. Eden pressed on ruthlessly." What hurts more? Her death or that you married a witch?"

Eden could recognise the signs. He saw the thought appear in Sir Gabriel's mind almost before he started to move. 

Eden knew how to roll with the force of a blow, absorb the shock of it and keep the tears back for later. 

Not this time. As Sir Gabriel swung the gun barrel down, Eden stepped into it, turning his cheek and tilting his head. 

The metal caught him right in the mouth. It made Eden convulsively bite the inside of hi cheek. He tasted iron. Laughing, Eden spat blood onto the floor. There'd be more where that came from when it was needed. Shaking his head to clear it, Eden stood up. Bloody Hell his whole mouth stung. Still, he managed to say, "Much obliged Gabe. Walk don't talk, was it?"   
  
  


Ezra rubbed his wrists together, looking for a weakness in the ropes holding his arms behind his back. He was sat on the bench where he and Eden had conducted their ghost hunt, looking out over the saltmarsh to where the sun was contentedly dipping below the horizon. 

Michael was busy setting up what appeared to be a whole altar, it appeared, and was busy setting up things like candles and incense and all sorts of impressive looking paraphernalia in the shelter of the church. 

There was even a chalice. Ezra did not want to think about what she was going to do with that. Although it still looked far safer than the knife. 

“You really shouldn't go to all this effort for me,” Ezra tutted. That made him feel slightly better. Less of a victim. 

“And what do you know about it?” Michael asked, shaking out an altar cloth that really was lovely. It looked as though she’d embroidered it herself. Ezra would have found that quite sweet, if it wasn’t for it’s role in his impending death. 

“Have you heard of blood, bone and birdspit?” Ezra asked. 

“Peasant magic. Do bird’s even spit?” Michael asked, distracted.

“I suppose not.” Ezra wiggled his hands again. No, Miss Uriel was incredibly good with her knotwork. 

“I will do it properly this time,” Michael said as though she actually thought that would give Ezra any comfort. “With ceremony. I rushed Eric, the power barely lasted at all.”

Miss Uriel whistled. Michael looked up, shading her eyes against the angle of the setting sun. She said a word Ezra wasn’t aware that she knew. He was mildly impressed. 

Two figures wove their way along the path from the vicarage. Gabriel, cautious and unsteady on the unfamiliar ground in his expensive shoes, his coat flapping out behind him. The figure he was driving before him was all sharp black lines, apart from the red hair flapping about in disarray. 

Ezra’s stomach knotted. "Oh no. Nonono." 

As he went to stand up Miss Uriel placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. "I agree," she said. "Most irritating."

Ezra wanted to weep. He'd been so stupid, but the one thing he'd thought had gone to plan was blowing away in the wind the closer Eden got to them. 

And Eden’s face was a mess. There was blood on his chin and cravat, his bottom lip swelling up obscenely. He'd lost his shoes, and hopped about on the sharp stones of the path. 

Ezra cried out, and Miss Uriel had to slam him back down on the bench again. 

Ezra's fear and self hate became tangible. The words of rebuke slithered up to him through the whispering grass. He gritted his teeth. Now was not the time. 

"You don't need him, Michael!" Ezra said firmly. "You have me."

"Today," Eden called out as he and Gabriel approached the altar. "But what about in a month? Or next week? Or tomorrow? We all know she's going to do it again when his power fades."

"That's not helping!" Ezra said with exasperation. 

Eden grinned at him, cold and ghoulish with the blood between his teeth. "That depends on who you think I'm trying to help."

Doubt crept into Ezra's mind like a chill. The voice in his head laughed. No. Eden loved him. Liked him. Not that he'd said as much… the voice in Ezra's mind got louder, crueler as his doubt grew. 

"Don't you ever stop talking?" Gabriel growled. 

"Nope." Eden wiped blood from his chin. "One of the many things that drove my ex-partner nuts. Thing is, you all need to talk about it because sooner or later she's going to strip someone who can't just be toppled into the marsh and forgotten about. If you ask me nicely then I can help." He looked around the group expectantly." Don't all thank me at once."

Gabriel laughed. Michael didn't. Bizarrely, that gave Eden hope. He tried to catch Eden's eye and was resolutely ignored. 

"Think about it," Eden continued, addressing Michael only. " Not saying you can't strip someone else if you still want to. I understand the rush of it, the headiness of that power before it starts to fade. But what if it didn't? Fade, I mean?" His voice was low, a tempting, sinuous thing. 

Ezra remembered how it had felt having that voice whisper in his ear. That mouth so close to his skin. Eden still didn't look at him. 

_ You're a stupid old fool.  _

"That's not possible." Michael sneered, but she did nothing to stop Eden talking. 

Eden dared a step close to her. He looked so exposed against the sunset, without his hat and glasses, palms open in suplication. "Sure it is, I can bind…"

"Don't try and fool me," Michael turned away in disgust. "I know what a binding is. It's a curse. Locks up all a crafter's power so even they can't use it. You use it to disable suspects."

Eden nodded. "Well that's the legal way of using it, sure. Do you honestly think the Authority let's all it's secrets out into daylight. I could tell you things…. But if you had a stable power source you could find out yourself." He edged closer again. Gabriel grabbed his shoulder. 

"They'd beg you to join," Eden called out, his words rushed as Gabriel pulled him back. "Give you whatever you wanted. I've seen things in the archives with your family angel's seal on too. Just like that ring you're wearing."

"You expect me to trust your word?" Michael scoffed. 

Eden shrugged, waving a hand at Ezra, but holding Michael's eyes." It'd be him I'd need to work on first. I'm sure a lady of your expertise would be able to catch any funny business from  _ a man like me _ ." His eyes flicked to Ezra's then. A conspiracy. A promise. 

Ezra's breath caught. Eden's word hit Ezra right in the heart. He  _ was _ being a fool. Ezra knew exactly the type of man Eden was, and there was no one else like him in the world. 

Michael smiled smugly. "See, Ezra, I told you he was leading you on."

"Consider me chastised," Ezra murmured. The voices in his head faded. 

Eden still had his naked eyes fixed on Michael's. He swallowed carefully. 

Michael took the gun from Sir Gabriel and turned it on Eden. "Go on then."

Miss Uriel pulled Ezra to his feet, shoving him forward. Eden kept his eyes on Michael as long as he could. Then he sauntered over to Ezra. 

He really did look dreadful. And beautiful. Ezra tried his best not to smile at him. 

Eden's hands cupped Ezra's face. "Trust me?" His voice shook and his eyes were so full of hope. 

Ezra lunged forward and kissed him. Eden's mouth was salty with blood. Ezra lapped at it, felt the pull of Eden's power. He let his own jump free in response. The rush of self loathing was virtually gone, and what was still there could be faced rationally. 

_ I know you,  _ Ezra thought as he looked at himself honestly.  _ I'm not ashamed of you anymore.  _

Eden believed in him. His uncle had too. Ezra stopped fighting his power and let it loose. The first terrifying rush as he felt the depths of it made him dizzy. It was met and held by something fire-hot and vast. Something that matched it. 

After that it was soft white light. Ezra was part of Eden, and they were both part of the marsh, they had the voice of the wind and the eyes of the crows taking flight from the church tower. 

He wanted to touch Eden so badly. The rope on his wrists fell away. Ezra buried his hands in Eden's hair. Eden, or at least the physical part of Eden, melted into him with a sigh that made the church foundations tremble. 

"Stop it!" Michael yelled. "What are you doing?"

The gun flew from her hand, caught up in the storm rising around them. 

"Here we go," Eden whispered. "Hang on."

It was like flying, or free falling. Clinging to each other in the eye of the storm. Ezra was aware of his family as points of light amidst the storm of magic surrounding them. He could feel the start and finish of them. So easy to pinch those lights and snuff them out. 

_ If you don’t. I will.  _ Eden made no attempt to hide the thought. 

_ You will not. They are going to face the full justice of the law.  _

_ You realise that’s going to be worse for them. _

_ Oh, yes.  _

Eden's fond cackle filled Ezra's head.  _ Let's just put them to sleep for a bit then.  _

It was horrifyingly easy to find their minds. A gentle push and they passed out, one after the other. 

The wind began to ebb, it faded out far more gently than it had arrived. Eden grabbed Eastgate’s arms. His body was stiff, but still shaking uncontrollably. Very slowly the pair of them overbalanced sinking to their knees and then their sides in the cold grass. It was easy just to lie still for a moment, getting used to breathing again, having limbs that ached. 

“You ok?” Eden asked. Or maybe Eastgate asked it, or just thought about it. The boundaries between them were still kind of fuzzy. Eden blinked. Yes, they were his eyes, his brain. His lip throbbing with pain. Eastgate was lying opposite him, their noses almost touching. “Your hair.”

“My hair?” Eastgate blinked back at him.

“Sgone all puffy. White.” Eden blinked again. “Suits you.”

Eastgate sat up, probably far more slowly than he intended, and began to try and pull the short curls down his forehead, going cross eyed as he tried to see them. 

Eden heaved himself upright as well. He shuffled forward so he could run his hand through the curls. “Like a halo.”

Eastgate snorted. “I probably look like I’ve aged thirty years.”

Eden shook his head. If anything he looked younger, more alive. The darker colours, including his muddy coloured hair, never had suited him. “Like a halo,” Eden repeated stubbornly. 

Eastgate pouted at him, all adorable lips and round cheeks. “I need a mirror. First though, we should deal with them.” His eyes drifted to his unconscious family. 

“Can’t we let the crows eat them?”

They couldn’t. And after three trips to and from the church they left the three of them tied up and locked in the vestry. 

“I’ll send a telegram tomorrow.” Eden stretched out his back. “Device can help watch them until the cavalry arrives.”

They were in the room next to the vestry that Eastgate used as an office. He’d found a mirror on the back of the wardrobe door and was inspecting his hair thoughtfully. “More blond than white," he decided. His skin was pale, hands fluttering nervously. 

The shock would kick in soon. For both of them. There was an old worn out sofa beneath the window and Eden collapsed onto it and just looked at Eastgate fussing with his hair, brow creased in worry. “Alright then.”

“I look like my uncle," Eastgate mused. 

Eden lifted his head. “You did anyway.”

Eastgate turned round quickly. 

“I knew him. In London. He was the man I told you about, who recruited me, who died.” Eden bit distractedly at his thumb nail. “Same man as your uncle. Took me forever to work it out.”

Eastgate sat next to him, moving Eden’s hand gently, but firmly away from his mouth and holding it in both of his. “Would it be very painful for you to tell me everything?”

“Everything? Like about life, the universe…”

Eastgate slapped him gently. He found a blanket from somewhere and tucked up against Eden, legs curled up and head on Eden’s chest so they cocooned themselves together. “Fiendish demon.”

“Not. In a church. Look. Feet not smoking or anything.” Eden settled back content. For the moment he could allow himself to be content. Problems could be dealt with later. 

Eastgate’s laugh turned into a yawn. 

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Tomorrow though. Get some sleep. I doubt they’ll wake up, but I’ll keep an eye, just in case.” Eden let his cheek rest on Eastgate's near white curls. They didn't look odd at all. Looked like they'd always been there, just waiting for the right moment to stop hiding. 

“Aren’t you tired too?” Eastgate whispered. 

“Yes, and I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.”

“Liar.”

“Trust me, aye?” Eden wasn’t going to sleep anyway. Sooner or later the Authority would be on the island, and for all Eden had begged Eastgate to come to London the best place for him was here. He didn't want to see what the Authority would put Eastgate through to test him, or how that would change him. 

Eden had until morning to think about how to keep his lover safe. It would be a long night. 

  
  
  


“Wake up!” 

Ezra surfaced out of a heavy sleep. There was a crick in his neck and his mouth was horribly dry. Yesterday, and all that had happened, loomed large and terrifying just at the edge of his awareness. Eden was here though, and safe. Ezra cupped his jaw, careful to avoid his swollen lip. “You said you’d wake me.”

Eden crouched on the floor by the sofa one hand still insistently shaking his shoulder. “Waking you now, aren’t I? My boss is here.”

Ezra sat up, catching Eden's fear. “How…?”

Eden glanced back at the closed door. “Device. Summoned them yesterday before she came to get me out of the coal cellar."

"Coal cellar?" 

"Not important." Eden slid onto the sofa next to him, gripping Ezra's shoulders. "I need you to listen to me. I need you to listen very carefully. You have no magical talent. The haunting was just a ghost. I banished it. Your sister mistakenly thought you had inherited your uncle’s power; she was wrong. I'll deal with the interrogations. Here’s your Uncle's ring, put it in your pocket but tell them you don’t know where it is. Pretend you don’t like me. That you can’t wait to see me gone. You remember how to do that?” His smile was wry, heartbreaking. 

“Eden….” Ezra reached out for him. He’d never seen him so scared. 

“If they find out how strong you are," Eden continued quietly and furiously." How strong we are together they will never let you go, do you understand? Your past history, what your family have done, they will hold it over you forever. Do _ you understand? _ Bea’s, Ms Fly to you, is ok, but the bastards in charge of the Authority will use whatever it takes to get you belonging to them. And they’ll ask things of you sometimes. Things that...look you won't want to do.”

“Is that why my uncle never wrote back to me?” Ezra whispered. The echo of voices in the church got louder. Gabriel sounded quite put out. Eden's fear was now seeping from him in waves. 

“I don’t know...he never got sucked in by them. He helped, advised, trained up the street urchins like me, but he...I don’t know. That’s not the point. The point is you need to stay out of it. They won't let you stay here where your home is.”

“You wont get to stay either.” The full horror of what Eden was asking settled in Ezra's stomach like a lead weight. 

“I don’t care about me. You said you didn’t know how this could work between us. I don’t either. I just…" Eden looked away." I just want you to be safe. Promise me you’ll be safe.” His fingers dug into Ezra's flesh, holding on tighter before the inevitable release. 

"They let Lucian D'ville go," Ezra persisted, his hands squeezing Eden's forearms gently. 

Eden laughed harshly. "He was rich, connected and had only enough talent to fill a tea cup. His family handed him over to the Authority to keep him out of trouble." Eden was impatient now, eyes more on the door than Ezra. 

"And they partnered him with you?" 

Eden looked back at him. For a moment the fear ebbed as he smiled. Ezra smiled back, but tears were already creeping out of his eyes. 

"Give him a couple of years feigning respectability they'll bring him back as a junior member of the Dark Council." Eden rested their foreheads together. "Promise me you'll stay safe."

Ezra nodded. He wanted to stay here. This was his home. But without Eden it felt like half the future was missing. He looked so earnest though and Ezra couldn't deny him. “I promise.”

Eden swiped his thumbs under Ezra’s eyes. “It’s ok. Crying is good. You’ve had a rough night, haven’t you?” Then he kissed him. Hard and frantic, despite his swollen mouth. Ezra held him close, desperate to imprint every sensation on his soul. 

Eden pulled away too soon. He got to his feet as the door opened. 

The person who came in was compact with short and spiky haired. Delicate boned and wearing a man’s tweed suit. They swaggered into the room looking around with hard eyes. “Upsetting the witness, Eden?”

“This is Ms Fly.” Eden stepped away from Ezra quickly. They’d been that far apart before, but this time it encompassed more than distance. 

Ms Fly held out her hand. Ezra took it and her grip nearly crushed his fingers. He could feel the intent behind it and tucked his power away, burying it deep, but not so far this time that he would lose sight of it. He didn’t look directly into her eyes. 

“I’m going to escort you back up to the house, Mr Eastgate. I have some questions for you. Eden, the lads will help you deal with the suspects.” Ms Fly gestured for Ezra to get up. 

She made Eastgate leave the room first. He didn’t dare look back at Eden in case he dissolved with grief. 

  
  


Mrs Pott's was infuriated that she hadn't hadn’t been warned of the invasion, but also unbearably smug that she could still put together tea for six at such short notice. She delighted in irritating Ms Fly by popping in and out with offers of more tea and cake, and quite undermining the interrogation that she was trying to put Ezra through. 

Ezra thought about telling the truth. It poised on the tip of his brain. How would Eden know that Ms Fly hadn’t teased it out of him? She sat cross legged on the edge of the chair, the one Ezra now thought of as Eden’s, looking at him as though he was the worst liar in the world. 

Ezra had promised though and that kept his tongue in check. 

“You’ve had a very bad few days,” Ms Fly said in a carefully monotonous voice. “So I can forgive you for being less than helpful. Are you sure there is nothing else you need to tell me?”

Ezra shook his head. 

She didn’t press him though, and her eyes were not as hard as he’d originally thought. Ezra was grateful for that. 

“I’d better make sure my boys aren’t eating you out of house and home then.” 

Her boys could be heard clattering up and down the stairs and exchanging ribald insults in the yard outside. Ezra had noted that they did fall into wary, respectful silence whenever Ms Fly approached them though. 

She stood up, pausing at the door. “Apologies your first experience of the Authority was Eden. He’s...an acquired taste. But, he does the job as he sees fit, and he means well. We wont send him back though, if we need anything else from you.” She lifted an eyebrow at Ezra. It was an accusation. Or possibly a challenge. 

When she’d gone, Ezra took the ring from his pocket and slipped it on. He put his head in his hands and felt the tug of Eden leaving the island. He didn’t dare risk going outside to watch the horse and cart Pulsifer had brought over drive away. He wouldn’t be able to do it. 

When the last traces of Eden had vanished beyond Ezra's awareness there was nothing but a hollowness left behind. 

After a while the door opened again. 

Ezra turned quickly, hoping despite the persistent emptiness in his heart. 

Mrs Device looked him over. Her expression was almost as despairing of him as Ms Fly's had been. “You won't last the week.” She helped herself to the cake Ms Fly had refused to touch and settled herself in Eden’s chair. “What was it? Separation for the greater good? Or one of you misguidedly trying to save the other?”

“Mrs Device, I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about. And please don’t eat all the cake.” Ezra tried to sound put out but his voice wobbled alarmingly. 

Mrs Device gave him a knowing smile and held out the plate. “Eden told me everything. Not that he had to. I’d worked most of it out for myself. He asked me to look out for you, and I intend to do so because sooner or later your bond with him is going to be stretched so far and so hard the pair of you will be sick with it. So, before you break and go scurrying up to London I am going to teach you exactly how to control that powder keg of power you have there before you and Mrs Potts end up in the marsh again.” She nodded and shoved half a slice of cake into her mouth at once. "You're welcome," she munched. 

“And what do you expect in return for this substantial favour?" Ezra asked dryly, picking his own slice of cake into crumbs. 

Mrs Device regarded him thoughtfully while licking sugar from her fingers. "Since you ask, I want a proper space for my school. A nice old building outside the village where things exploding will inconvenience no one. Somewhere with enough rooms that I can get girls in from further away to board." Her grin was predatory. 

"You have this all thought out."

"Be a shame to keep  _ Angel's Rest  _ all boarded up when you go to London." Mrs Device sat back, legs crossed so her ankles were on full display and grinned.

"You're very confident I will be going to London," Ezra tried gamely. 

Mrs. Device looked him over. “You won't last the week."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene between Gabriel and Crowley ends with Crowley provoking Gabriel enough to hit him in the face with a gun.


	8. CHAPTER VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which matters are resolved to everyone's satisfaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who made it through this with me. I apologise for any plotholes you may have fallen down. Please keep calm. Someone will be along with a rope in a minute.

Ezra lasted a month. 

Or, twenty-nine days, fifteen hours and thirty three minutes. Most of this time was spent studying. He started with the research Michael had done on family history. Mrs Device was also a wealth of information as one of her ancestors had helped found The Authority and had written some of it's ordinances.

"It was meant to do good," Mrs Device muttered as she spread the documents out on Ezra’s kitchen table, "bring crafters together, keep them safe from the general populace and keep them safe from us. Now it's just a club of old Etonians grasping at power."

Ezra took carefully meticulous notes and borrowed copies of the ordinances Gramma Nutter had written. 

He also wrote to the lawyers handling Uncle Ezra's estate. One of them had been his uncle’s particular friend, as the man himself described it, and had been waiting for Ezra's letter. A thick packet of letters and further documents were sent back to him. Ezra worked through it all. He did not want to be separated from Eden a moment longer than necessary. He also did not want to break his promise and do anything foolish. 

Twenty-nine days, fifteen hours and thirty three minutes after Eden had left Tadfield, Ezra stood on Greek Street in Soho and looked up at the façade of A.Z Fell and Co for the first time.

The majestic sweep of the columns and the warm russet of the paint soothed the last of his nerves. Walking up the steps made his fingers tingle. 

The door swung inwards before Ezra had even thought about fishing the key from his pocket. He stepped over the threshold and into a peace that he'd never known before. 

A fat beam of dirty London sunlight streamed through the central oculus illuminating the mismatched rugs and lacquered woodwork. Dust motes danced lazily about the space The air was permeated with the scent of dry paper and ink. There wasn't an empty surface anywhere. Ezra did a slow circuit of the downstairs room, running his hands over oddities and curiosities and things he was sure would cause The Royal Society to swoon. 

Upstairs was equally chaotic, but the bedroom door stood open in invitation. Books were stacked up against the walls, but the bed had been made with what looked and smelled like fresh sheets. Clean clothes hung in the wardrobe. Pale wool trousers and tartan cravats. A worn waistcoat, the velvet patchy at the bottom but it's buttons still shiny. 

Before Ezra could let himself question his actions he stripped off his black clerical clothes and replaced them with things from the wardrobe. They softened the stark whiteness of his hair. Made him look and feel more complete. The trousers would need taking up, and he had to tighten the back of the waistcoat, but otherwise they fit as well as the shop did. 

The person who now looked back at Ezra from the mirror smiled at him in welcome. It had been exhausting running away from himself for so long. Wherever Ezra had hidden, there he had been. 

Now he was at home in the shop and in himself. It was a relief just to stand still. 

Ezra went down stairs and found a beige top hat hanging on a coat stand by the front door. A cane, still shiny as though the dust hadn't dared touch it, rested against the wall. A coat too, pale and soft, and when Ezra put that on he truly felt like a version of himself that could face the future. 

A search of the pockets revealed a collection of loose change, some boiled sweets and a pencil stub. There was also an envelope with Ezra’s name and address written on it in his uncle's hand. Ezra turned it over remembering the words of the last letter his uncle had sent him, the fear that had clawed at his chest when he read it. 

_Trust no one. Except, perhaps.. . I will send you his name and direction separately, if I feel time is running out._

Ezra’s hands shook with anticipation. Before he could open it someone knocked impertinently on the door. 

"We're closed!" Ezra said on reflex, as though the words had been hovering in the air waiting for him to give them shape. 

The door opened anyway. A golden haired urchin with a grubby face and ill fitting shoes slouched into the shop. "It's alright! I'll leave Dog outside this time."

"Thankyou." Ezra lifted his eyebrows. 

The boy wrinkled his nose as he looked Ezra over. Apparently he passed muster as the boy said, "I'm Adam. You must be the new Mr Fell."

"Yes, I suppose I must."

The boy held out his hand. Trying not to think of the many other things that hand had been in contact with, Ezra accepted it. 

"The old Mr Fell said we should look out for you. You took your time. We've got a lot of information on Lord Asmodeus and Lord Belial. Cost you a right pretty penny if you want it all at once." The boy’s smile was angelic. 

Ah. This was the spy master general he'd been warned about. Uncle Ezra's papers had been full of Adam and his gang, and the information they’d collected for him about The Authority's Dark Council. 

"It can wait, for now,” Ezra said. “What I need is a guide to take me to The Authority's headquarters." Ezra had never felt confident talking to children. He tried his best not to bend down and be patronising. He suspected that would not go down well, and he wanted his relationship with Adam to go well. He’d need his help to keep his promise to Eden. 

"Cost you." Adam shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. 

"Ah." Ezra searched his pockets and handed over the pile of loose change. 

Adam regarded it suspiciously. "You're not going to pull any of it out from behind my ear, are you?" 

"No?" Gosh! Was that expected? 

"Oh, thank God!" Adam snatched the money and it vanished somewhere in his oversized coat. "Come on then."

  
  


The Authority's headquarters was a cathedral-like building in South Kensington. The entrance was hall a huge, cavernous space that was suspiciously empty. Ezra's footsteps echoed on the black and white tiled floor as he walked carefully through it. Arches leapt around the edge of the giant room, and a large split staircase dominated the back wall. The pale eyes of portraits glared out at him from their shadowed alcoves. 

"Can I help?" A woman with pale skin and hair slicked tightly back against her scalp materialised out of the shadows of one of the arches. She eyed Ezra warily from over the stack of papers and folders clutched to her chest. “You’re a strong one, aren’t you?”

"I'm looking for Mr Eden." Ezra held his uncle's cane in both hands, twisting it nervously. "Just Eden really."

The woman's eyes travelled over him curiously. She moved forward slowly, skirt sweeping back and forth like a tale. She gave the impression of a slow moving shark, gliding towards him out of the deep water. "Eden's not here."

"Mr Fell?" It only sounded half a question and echoed around the room alarmingly. 

Ezra jumped. 

Ms Fly swaggered down the staircase, thumbs jammed in her waistcoat pockets. "It is Mr Fell, isn't it, Dagon?" 

Dagon, the woman with the files, tilted her head, stepping in closer than Ezra was comfortable with as she peered up at him. "He certainly looks like Mr Fell."

Ms Fly stood next to her, fixing Ezra with her hard, dark eyes. "How… Not entirely surprising to see you. Eden's not here. He's sick."

Ezra's hands twisted the cane tighter. "If I could have his address, I'd be most grateful."

"Oh, I'm sure you would."

"We don't give out our employee's addresses," Dagon hissed. "Not even to old acquaintances recently and miraculously returned from the dead."

Ms Fly inclined her head towards Dagon and for a moment it looked like she might come to Ezra's assistance. Her eyes narrowed though. "She's right, we don't. And Eden really is very sick. Has been since Tadfield. A _true_ friend…" her hand slipped to the small of Dagon's back. "Would be able to find him."

Ezra’s hope sunk, and then fluttered briefly back to life. Alright then. If that was how they wanted to be. He nodded and left the building with renewed focus. Could it really be that easy? He should be aware of Eden, shouldn’t he? He had been in Tadfield, but it had been so long and London was so crowded with energy. It was thick and gloopy like gravy, and despite practising everyone of Mrs Device's monotonous exercises religiously, he couldn't separate all the different signatures out. 

Ezra placed a palm on the rough brick as the dizziness of trying to concentrate so hard overwhelmed him. 

He'd come so far, and worked so hard, and it was for nothing. 

Ezra took a deep breath. 

No. Not for nothing. Everything that had happened since he'd met Eden had not been for nothing. He _would_ find Eden, and hold him, and feed him sweet tea and soup until he was better again, damn it. 

Ezra just had to think. 

He brushed his pocket as he pulled his coat back into order. Paper crinkled beneath the material.

_I will send you his name and direction separately._

Ezra nearly dropped his cane in an effort to grab the letter. He ripped it open. Inside was a name and address. 

It wasn't Eden's name, but the resonance of it filled a gap in Ezra's mind. It wasn’t the name Eden had given him, but it was _his._ Ezra hurried down the steps and into the street. He began to run towards Mayfair. 

The lodging house was tall and skinny. Smart enough on the outside with it’s neatly painted door and window frames, and with flowers blooming in all the window boxes. The landlady scowled at Ezra's incessant banging on her door. 

"Mr Fell?" Her scowl and eyebrows lifted. She stepped back.

"If you like. Sorry, in rather a rush, if you'll excuse me." Ezra slipped in past her and attacked the stairs, counting the room numbers until he reached number six, virtually in the loft. He knocked on the door. He held his breath as the silence stretched out. He knocked again.

"Still alive, Bea. Now bugger off."

The voice was so angry. So familiar. Ezra laughed and hit the door for a third time. 

It jerked open beneath his fist. 

Eden stood there without his glasses, wearing nothing but a loose shirt that flapped around his thighs. His eyes widened. "You promised to stay safe," he said breathlessly.

"Trust me." Ezra could barely speak; he was smiling so hard. 

Eden’s mouth twisted. His throat worked slowly as he swallowed. Then he flung himself forward, his arms going around Ezra's shoulders like a vice. He buried his nose in the crook of Ezra’s neck. Ezra closed his eyes and held him, breathed him in and let the pain of the last weeks ebb away as he stroked Eden’s hair.

After a moment that was not nearly long enough, Eden pulled away, but he didn't let go of Ezra's shoulders. He alternated between gripping them tightly and running his palms over them as though testing every part was solid. "You’d best come in. Sister Mary is probably already gossiping to my neighbours." He stepped backwards, leaving the door open, his fingers drifting down to Ezra’s cuff before they broke contact. 

Even that small separation was awful. Ezra stepped quickly into the room, shutting the door and closing the rest of the world out. 

Eden’s rooms were sparse, meticulously neat and tidy. Some of the decorative choices were more than the space could really handle though. The desk chair was throne-like. The statue of two winged figures ostentatious and near pornographic.

Eden moved quickly to the fireplace. He looked thinner, skin drawn in tight to his bones and very pale. He must have suffered as badly as Ezra, but without the furious focus of learning, and planning to distract him. Ezra itched to hold him again. 

"You want some tea?" Eden pulled a box down from above the fireplace. 

"Just you." Ezra stepped towards him.

Eden put the tea box back. "Ezra." It was almost a prayer, so raw and heartfelt. 

Ezra stepped forward again, holding out his hand. "Aziraphale, actually. If you wouldn’t mind?"

A smile flickered to life at the corner of Eden's mouth as he took Aziraphale's hand in both of his, thumb sweeping over the inside of Aziraphale’s wrist. "Anthony J. Crowley," he confirmed. "But it's just…" 

"Just Crowley?" Aziraphale said. "What's the J for?" 

"Dunno. It's just a J really. You don't like it?" 

"I'll get used to it, Crowley." Aziraphale already had. It was a note of perfect harmony. “Just Crowley. My Crowley.”

Crowley's full smile escaped him, lighting up his eyes and making them crinkle at the edges. "Dreamed about how you'd say my name."

He still held Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale put his free fingers around Crowley's forearm and tugged him closer, and then a bit closer still. "I missed you." He leaned in, their lips almost touching. "Crowley."

"So you're staying here then," Crowley breathed. "With me?" He began to undo Aziraphale's cravat as he tilted his head, his mouth coming teasingly closer. 

"Well, there's the bookshop…." Aziraphale closed his eyes. 

Crowley pulled back, laughing. "Your uncle left you that creepy old thing?" His nimble fingers plucked at Aziraphale's waistcoat buttons. 

"How very dare you! Creepy!" 

Crowley kissed him. It was deep and slow. So very terribly familiar. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Eden’s narrow waist, holding him close. There was no need to rush now. They were together and had forever. 

Aziraphale whimpered when Crowley broke the kiss. Aziraphale's cravat still hung around his neck. Crowley snatched the two loose ends and dragged him through a half open door that, thank god, led to the bedroom. 

After seeing the living room, Aziraphale was less startled by the size of the bed, or the occult darkness of the sheets. 

Crowley undressed Aziraphale carefully, giving him time to hang or fold his clothes as needed. 

There was no rush. 

When Aziraphale was naked Crowley pushed him onto his back on the bed. He climbed up after him, straddling his thighs and pulling his shirt off. 

Having Crowley above him like that, stomach and ribs stretching, arms over his head, was a vision that would burn itself onto Aziraphale's memory. His breath was already erratic and he slid his palms up Crowley's legs, holding on tight incase he slipped away. 

Crowley tossed his shirt to the floor. He looked down, pupils blown wide, hair sticking up on end. 

He was gorgeous. 

Crowley blushed. _Shurrup._

Aziraphale reached out for him, pulling Crowley down so their mouths came back together. They shared another deep kiss, not as slow though, hungrier. They pressed together, not a spare inch between them, power becoming unmoored and twisting together as they sought the deepest parts of each other out.

"Wait, while I can still think." Crowley shifted, reaching over to the windowsill just beyond the bed's carved headboard. He snagged up a bottle of oil and dropped it on the mattress. 

"That's convenient," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley looked down, balanced on one hand, the other pushing his hair out of his eyes. His cheeks darkened. "I've been thinking about you alot. _Alot._ "

Their boundaries were weak enough now that Aziraphale saw the memories. Crowley's hand working himself to hardness, the noises he'd made. The hot, pulsing pleasure of his orgasm. 

Aziraphale ground up against Crowley's thigh, seeking friction for his own aching cock. 

"Can you fuck me?" He gasped. "Would you like to?" 

Crowley nodded. "Sure. Yes. Yes please."

He grabbed a pillow to go beneath Aziraphale's hips. They were frantic now. The cork for the oil bottle getting lost between the sheets, a large portion of it going on Aziraphale's stomach in their haste. Crowley scooped it up with his fingers, and then, glory, he was working Aziraphale open. 

_I'm ready._ Aziraphale squirmed.

_You're not._

_Please, I want you._

_Want you. Just be patient._

_Been patient._ Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands. _A whole twenty-nine days…_

Crowley pushed past Aziraphale's rim and he cried out with relief, nails catching on Crowley's shoulders. Crowley's breath was rough in his ear as he lifted Aziraphale's leg and pushed in deeper. It was like flying. Their mouths found their way back together, open and breathless. As their bodies found a rhythm Aziraphale was no longer sure who was inside who. Crowley's pleasure was his, and his was Crowley's. It blended together, mounting until it was too much to hold. It broke in a great wave fading to ripples that felt like they went on forever. They gasped, mouths still pressed together, still hard, still moving as another orgasm began to build, and broke, and began to build again.

At some point they changed position, with Crowley back on top, head thrown back as he rode Aziraphale's cock. He had one hand behind him for balance, the other pumping himself furiously. 

_You liked this, didn't you? In my memories?_

"Of course I did. You're gorgeous." Aziraphale dug his fingers into Crowley's hips. "Wish you could see yourself."

"I can."

He could. Their edges were still slippery enough they were dipping in and out of each other's heads and when Crowley looked down Aziraphale saw himself, hair teased up on end and chest and neck flushed. Crowley's thoughts were jumbled up with it too, telling Aziraphale about his strong arms and shoulders, the depth and beauty of his eyes. Just him. All of him. 

It was startling to be so thoroughly loved for his imperfections and not because of them. 

Aziraphale came with a shout, gasping Crowley's name and hearing his own echoed back at him. 

Crowley flopped forward, his forehead resting against Aziraphale’s before he rolled to the side, flopping onto the pillow next to him, hand going to fluff Aziraphale's hair more. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s fingers and kissed them. "Is it always going to be like this, do you think?" 

"Would it be a bad thing if it were?" 

Crowley’s words were broken as Aziraphale was already sucking Crowley’s thumb into his mouth. He never had been good at resisting temptation.

"We _should_ sleep at some point,” Aziraphale murmured.

"I could ask Bea, if I could do it without imploding."

Aziraphale released Crowley’s hand. "Bea? Oh, Ms Fly and Dagon. I see it now!" The way Ms Fly had arrived so quickly, how their auras had responded to each other. Did he and Crowley look like that? Had that been what Mrs Device had noticed when she’d first seen them together?

Crowley lifted himself up on his elbow. "You've been to The Authority!" His voice shook with anger, or fear disguised as anger anyway. Aziraphale could now tell the difference. 

"Looking for you!" 

Crowley's mouth twisted. "Lucky it was only them that saw you." 

"I needed to see _you_ ," Aziraphale insisted. 

"I know. Me too." Crowley cupped Aziraphale's face, his words gentler. "I'm going to get us cleaned up. Then we're going to sleep some. And _then_ we are going to talk about how you aren't breaking your promise to me by being here."

"Over breakfast?" 

"Yes, over breakfast." Crowley swung his legs off the bed.

Aziraphale wiggled happily against the sheets. "Whatever you say, darling."

  
  


"Eden!" 

The shout was accompanied by a furious banging on the door. 

Aziraphale pushed himself into a sitting position, body awake before his mind had quite caught up. The room was inconsiderately bright, and his body a pleasant bloom of aches. 

"Shitshitshit." Crowley was already out of bed wiggling into his drawers. "Out in a minute!" 

He was half into his shirt when Ms Fly slammed open the bedroom door. 

Aziraphale dragged the covers up to his chin. He tried not to squeal. 

"Glad you found him," Ms Fly said, unphased by the two naked men glaring death at her.

"Really, madam!" Aziraphale nearly shrieked. 

"Madam!" Crowley snorted as he did up his collar.

"Relax, _Mr Fell._ I don't care if you're fucking him. Or if he's fucking you, or whatever the details of the arrangement are, what I care about is the summons." Ms Fly held out the letter, inches from Crowley's nose. 

"I have a guest." But Crowley took the letter, eyes darting over it. 

"Bring him too. Might as well see what you're both made of." Ms Fly glanced at Aziraphale again. “Pleasure, Mr Fell.”

Aziraphale was sure she did it just to see him blush. 

Ms Fly turned back to Crowley, locating his cufflinks on the sideboard and holding them out to him on her palm. "There's rats on the Ratcliffe Highway. Big ones. Very, very big. You may want to delay breakfast until after you've seen the mess they've made. Maybe longer. I'll wait outside." Ms Fly strode out. She left the door open. 

"How did she get in?" Aziraphale grumbled. 

"You're not in a drawing room now, reverend." Crowley shoved his shirt tails into his trousers. 

"She magiced the lock?" Aziraphale began gathering his own clothes while staying hidden modestly under the covers. 

"Nah, picked it. Most of your colleagues are less than salubrious now." Crowley threw Aziraphale's shirt at his head. "You can stay here, if you'd like. 

"No. I think I'd rather go with you." He would. Azirapahle had chosen this life and everything about it. Giant rats before breakfast hadn't changed that. 

" Alright then, reverend." Crowley beamed. 

"Please, don't. I mean, technically I am still ordained but…" 

"You've had a promotion then." Crowley's smile turned wicked. 

"I'm sorry?" Aziraphale surfaced from the neck of his shirt. 

"What with your hair and all, and coming to save me from my sickbed." Crowley smirked. 

"I really didn't…" 

Crowley grabbed the front of Aziraphale's shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. The smirk was still very much on his lips when he said, "Come on, angel. Don't want to keep the boss waiting."

**Author's Note:**

> This is not quite the Hell and Holy Water mentioned in Crazy Ineffable Thing (Called Love). I started out trying to write that and then wrote this instead. Essentially I couldn't do award winning fantasy novelist A. Z. Fell justice, and couldn't resist using their Canon names, eventually. That’s why I’ve given it a slightly different title. 
> 
> Regardless, no prior knowledge of Crazy Ineffable Thing is required as this is a stand alone story I wrote for the GO Events Mystery AU. If you do want a disaster dad's sequel that acts as a companion fic to this one, chapter 1 is  
> [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28108923/chapters/68870658)  
> And, not that I want to discourage comments, but I may use the themes coming out of comments on this fic to fuel the writing of that fic. If you don't want me to do that with a comment you do decide to leave please let me know.


End file.
